


Thunder Road

by Nekhen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-TFA, Star Wars: Bloodline-compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 78,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekhen/pseuds/Nekhen
Summary: It’s been one year since Leia Organa’s secret parentage was made public, and the Resistance founded. But the Republic is reluctant to aid a paramilitary organization whose aim is to fight an invisible enemy, and the Resistance is tragically underfunded and ignored by the same organization it’s supposed to be saving. In dire need of money and resources, the Resistance is desperate for help from whoever is willing to give it.Because of her personal connections, ambassador-in-training Helana Seras is recruited to work as a messenger between General Organa and the Chandrilan Ambassador, who is willing to help the cause. But what was supposed to be a simple transport from point A to point B turns out to be a lot more complicated, and Helana will find herself stranded on an alien planet, deep into the Unknown Territories, with a blasted pilot as her only company…





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> The planning of this fic (and of this entire ‘verse) belongs to the post-TFA era, which means that TLJ wasn’t out yet when I started. I had been ready to make the necessary adjustments to fit the plot of TLJ in, if needed, but I don’t think that much material from that particular source will ever be used in my stories. To each their own, but I disagree so fundamentally with everything coming from that movie (first and foremost with the way the characters are treated) that I prefer to follow the route taken by TFA than consider anything coming out of TLJ, especially since the two movies are blatantly contradicting each other on a ridiculous number of issues.
> 
> This specific story is set about one year after _Bloodline_ , and five years before TFA. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I’ve tried to keep true to the SW spirit, with politics and adventure and piece-of-junk ships. I hope you will enjoy it as well.
> 
> English is not my first language, so please, feel free to point out any mistakes. Corrections are much appreciated.
> 
> The title is from a song by Bruce Springsteen. Lyrics are from _How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful_ , by Florence + The Machine.
> 
>  

**THUNDER ROAD**

 

 

_And every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips~_

 

 

«Miss Seras. Your transport has arrived.»

The voice, which I promptly recognised, belonged to one of Father’s young attendants. I glanced at his figure through the mirror, tall and blonde and very composed in the dark green livery of our house, and I barely refrained from nodding. Not only had I been repeated for most of my life how impolite that was, but I doubted that my handmaid, Hora, who was currently braiding my hair, would appreciate it.

«Thank you, Darion. Please, tell my father I shall be there shortly.»

Darion, who apparently had no compulsion about it, and also had no one’s hands presently tangled in his hair, nodded his agreement, and stepped back to report the message. The plasteel door immediately whooshed close, and Hora, who hadn’t even faltered in her task, fixed the last braid with a transparent elastic band.

«I hope they will find you some decent handmaid when you arrive. Not one of those second hand chambermaids, only good to clean bathrooms and change sheets» Hora grumbled, staring at her nimble hands with dark, unhappy eyes. She had been none too pleased when I told her that she was to stay on Chandrila, but I had little choice in the matter. Officially, I was supposed to go back to Coruscant to begin my training, but the truth was slightly darker than that. I would still fly to Coruscant, but I was supposed to take a small detour first. A secret mission.

I disliked that kind of situations, but Father had asked, and I could never say no to him.

«I’m sure they will. And you will join me there soon enough» I replied, trying to soothe her wounded feelings. «You know how it is. I’m officially beginning my apprenticeship with Lady Lilandra. I don’t want to appear a pampered, spoiled little brat, incapable of surviving even for a few weeks without her handmaid.»

It was the best excuse I could come up with, and it sounded valid enough to me. But Hora didn’t look particularly reassured, and I glumly thought that if I couldn’t even persuade my own handmaid to enjoy some rest, my career in politics was finished before it even started.

«As you say, Mistress Helana» Hora replied, in a tone that didn’t even try to sound convinced. I watched through the mirror as she gathered up my thin, loose braids and coiled them in a bun, that she went on to fix on the back of my head. She was extremely quick about it, and I didn’t feel the slightest tug.

Hora was right, of course. I would never find another maid as good as she was–surely not where I was going, and probably not even on Coruscant. Not only truly skilled maids were rarer than Kyber crystals, on a planet full of politicians, but most of them had followed the Senate in its travelling across the galaxy–first to Theed and then to Hosnian Prime. No one had time to waste for small-time diplomats and academy students, who had been left to fend for themselves.

I suppressed a sigh. It would be no good to show Hora how truly dejected I felt, at the idea of having to work through my routine without her. I was better than that. Someone, somewhere, had to possess the minimal skills required for the job, and I was going to find them. It would only be for four weeks, after all.

Maybe I _was_ a pampered, spoiled brat. But, as a diplomat, I couldn’t afford the luxury of looking shabby in front of my peers, and Hora had kept my appearances up to standard for the length of my entire education. She had been my handmaid since I was thirteen year old, and I told Father I wanted to be a senator one day, just like him. Studying at the Academy had brought me to choose a slightly different path, but that feeling, the ferocious need to make him _proud_ , was still there, eleven cycles later.

I still remembered the day Father had hired her for me, and brought her to my chambers. She had been twenty-six at the time, respectful and wary and extremely skilled, but never coy. Even then, she had been just as head-strong as she was now, when she was fighting the urge to rebel to her mistress’s order because she didn’t think it was particularly wise.

«You’re ready, Mistress Helana» she said eventually, after having checked and re-checked her work to make sure that not even a curl could escape from the vice-tight chignon.

Hora moved aside, folding her hands on her lap and studying me as I rose slowly, giving my face a last lingering look through the mirror to reassure myself that everything was in order, that my hair looked perfectly coiffed and that my make-up still held. It did, of course–Hora would never allow for anything different to happen, but I never got over the need to make sure that I wasn’t shaming Father with a less than perfect appearance one last time.

I brushed the silken skirt of my sky-blue dress, smoothing wrinkles that weren’t there, and adjusted the cut, making sure that it freed the shoulders at the appropriate angle. The violet corset held the fabric tight from breasts to hipbones, trailing violet silk strands along the skirt. Violet slippers completed the look, and violet eyeshade framed my green eyes.

Estimating with absolute accuracy the moment when I would finally be satisfied with my last check, Hora fetched me a dark-blue cloak. It was early spring on Chandrila, and Coruscant’s temperatures remained artificially mild throughout the whole year, but I had no idea about the seasonal cycle of wherever I was going to. I had packed for a wide range of contingencies, from arctic temperatures to desert conditions, and even if Hora had found my fashion choices slightly puzzling, she had said nothing about it. She helped me drape the velvet cape on my shoulders, hiding the cut in the dress, and clasped the latch on my throat.

«I would rather keep my hood raised» I said, after a short consideration. Hora, who was a few inches taller than me, hesitated for a second, before complying.

«You’ll be alright, Mistress, won’t you?» she murmured, voice low and slightly tense. She settled the hood on my head with the outmost care, making sure not to spoil her painstakingly accurate work on my black hair.

I conceded myself a sigh, just this time. She knew how much I hated flying, but I needed to get over it. I was going to be an ambassador–I couldn’t very well get all maudlin and irritable every time I had to board a ship. I was not six years old anymore.

«I will. And I will see you soon, too.» I smiled, hoping Hora could see enough of my face from under the hood to take some reassurance. «You deserve a holiday, Hora. Enjoy it. Visit your family, go to the Silver Sea. Say goodbye to Chandrila. I don’t know when we will be back again.»

«I will, Mistress. You have a safe journey, and tell those backwater chambermaids on Coruscant they better do an exemplary job. They have the honour of a whole family on their shoulders.»

 _Honour_.

I was used to keeping secrets, but that one rested particularly heavy on me.

 

* * *

 

The transport, as Darion had aptly called it, was nothing more or less than that: the smallest, most unassuming cargo ship I had ever seen. It fulfilled its purpose, I supposed, since the purpose of our little venture was the most absolute secrecy. It was the reason why the pick-up had been arranged at my family’s summer house, isolated as it was amongst the northern region’s deep woods, instead of our main residence in Hanna City.

Father had been clear: the fewer knew about my mission, the better. That was the reason why I had left Hora in my chambers. As I looked at the cargo ship, I felt immensely relieved by it–she would most assuredly _not_ approve of a senator’s daughter travelling in _that_.

The ship had an oblong, weird shape, with rusty junctions and a white paint that had seen better days, slashed by tawny dashes that didn’t seem to have any pattern whatsoever, and that only the Maker knew what colour they had originally been. In the huge landing pad that Father had built behind our summer house, surrounded and partly hidden by imposing, lush trees, the cargo looked barely big enough to have a handful of rooms and a couple of refreshers, and I feared that I would have been forced to jump over pieces of luggage to move around. Luckily, I had left most of my belongings on Coruscant, after I graduated from the Academy, and the few other things I needed would join me on the planet with Hora.

There were only two men left, on the landing pad. I recognised Father, tall and lean and fair, chatting amiably with a stranger. My baggage was nowhere to be seen, so I supposed that someone had already brought it onboard.

«Helana, here you are!» exclaimed Father as soon as he spotted me, with undisguised pride. The way he looked at me, every single time, made me want to strive even harder, to meet and exceed each and any expectation he might have of me. To be as perfect as I could. I was not as good at political games as I knew I could be, and I only wanted to improve, to get _better_ , to make him prouder.

The stranger, who I imagined was the pilot, was staring at me with open curiosity. He was almost as tall as my father, but that was about the only thing they had in common. His skin was tanned where Father’s was fair, and his hair was dark and unruly, where Father’s was ginger and greying and perfectly slicked back. The elaborate senatorial robes, rich and loose and died of a blue so dark it made the violet slashed through it look almost light, made another stark contrast with the pilot’s simple civilian clothes–black pants with a dark brown leather jacket thrown on it.

«Please, allow me» Father said, as soon as I joined them on the landing pad. «This is Helana Seras, my daughter. Helana, this is Commander Poe Dameron, the best pilot in the whole Resistance.»

It had taken me years to learn how to hide contempt. It was the hardest thing I had ever accomplished, but now I was glad of it. I covered my instinctive sneer with a polite smile and I shook the hand the pilot offered me, not too hard and not too soft. Perfect-like.

«It is a pleasure to meet you» I lied, fixed smile never wavering. The pilot’s hand was warm and dry, surprisingly pleasant to the touch.

The pilot rewarded my self-restrain with a seemingly genuine smile of his own. His face had lit up with unmistakable pride at Father’s praise, and the jealousy, vicious and immediate, had almost cracked my carefully constructed blank expression.

«The pleasure is all mine.»

He had a deep, rich voice. I forced myself not to frown, as I tried to determine if he was truly this open or if he was the best liar I had ever met.

«Helana, I explained you the situation. Poe will take you to General Organa, at the Resistance base, and from there to Coruscant.»

«It should be a quick trip, no bumps on the road» the pilot added, and I repressed a groan.

_I have a bad feeling about this._

«I am sure it will be, Commander» I replied, and to my complete shock he actually bent over to peek under the hood, staring straight at my face. His brown eyes were strangely piercing, and I thought, with stunned surprise, that perhaps he was more perceptive than I had given him credit for. There was no mistaking the sharpness of his stare.

I was almost dazzled by the sudden change, when his smile opened up again. He backed up, without missing a beat.

«Poe. Call me Poe.»

«Of course» I replied, too confused to master a more complex reply. «Poe.»

The pilot rewarded me with another cheerful smile, and offered his hand to shake to Father.

«It’s been an honour meeting you, Senator Seras. I’ll give the General your regards.»

Father’s smile was delighted when he took his hand, and shook it with genuine enthusiasm.

«I assure you, the honour was all mine. You and yours are very brave young men and women, and the Republic is deeply indebted to you.»

I kept my face perfectly blank, polite smile frozen on my lips. The pilot was being overly familiar with my father, and Father was being overly friendly with a man he had just met. That was not how things usually went, and I never liked surprises. I liked what was expected, what was logical. I liked what I could dismember and, once reduced to its basic components, comprehend. I didn’t have enough information to understand _that_ , whatever _that_ was, and I disliked the feeling.

The fact that this stranger, this Poe Dameron, was a _pilot_ , made the whole thing utterly intolerable.

I just stared blankly at him, when the pilot let go of Father’s hand and turned towards me. I couldn’t read him at all. It was unsettling how eager he seemed, and how unsure I was of how much of it was real.

«We should go. Even at light speed, it’s a long way we’re going to travel.»

Which was nothing to worry about, I reminded myself. I would just retire to my room, and stay there until I could get off that abhorrent thing. The pilot didn’t even need to see me without my hood.

I nodded.

«Please Poe, make way» I replied, voice as clear and even as I could. The pilot smiled again, apparently pleased that I remembered his name.

«Senator» he said to Father as farewell, before preceding me on the ship.

Left alone with my father, I allowed him to pull me into a tight hug, but I forbade myself to cling to him. I had spent the last five cycles on Coruscant. This was not the first time I was about to leave him. And yet, it was leaving to study on another planet against leaving to bring to term a proper assignment–the two things could not have been more different. I would also start my first proper job after that mission, even if as an apprentice, which made the dichotomy even starker.

«Be careful, Helana» Father urged me, when he finally let go. He didn’t look in a rush to see me leave, either. «And thank you, for what you’re doing. It means a lot to me, and to the entire Republic.»

I shook my head.

«I am just going to relate a message, Father. It is hardly a dangerous task» I replied, clasping my hands over my lap. It was also hardly a matter of life and death, but that I kept to myself. I knew how important the Resistance was for him, and how strong his admiration was for General Organa. Father had always supported her, long before she left the Senate, but I had never seen her in person. Galactic City had been the capital of the New Republic, for a time, but it hadn’t lasted long–by the time I left Chandrila for Coruscant, the rotating system had already been in place, and the new capital had been Theed, on Naboo. Senator Organa had left Galactic City with the rest of the politicians, and what I knew of her had come from holograms and datapads.

The holograms hadn’t been kind on her. She had looked like a ferocious warmonger, at that time, and the scandal of her parentage hadn’t helped the issue. One year wasn’t even remotely enough to dull something that appalling, and her passionate speeches now sounded even worse. She looked like a soldier who hadn’t quite understood that the war was over, as if a part of her was still fighting a Rebellion against an Empire that hadn’t existed for many cycles. But Father worshipped her, and I would do anything for him.

As for myself, I had never felt too comfortable with the Populists, even if that was the side I had allied myself with. The alternative was just too unnerving.

«Promise me that you will listen to the General, when you get there» Father went on, as though I hadn’t even spoken. He laid his hand on my shoulder, squeezing ever so gently. «Do it for me. She is a great woman.»

I remembered perfectly well the last time he had said those exact words. It didn’t do anything to make me like the General more.

«I will, Father» I promised, before pleading, against my better judgment: «Come and see me on Coruscant, when you can.»

He stroked my cheek, slowly, sweetly, before stepping away.

«Soon, Helana, I promise. Now, go. Poe is waiting for you.»

And the Maker forbade that the pilot was kept waiting.

«Goodbye, Father» I murmured, hiding in my hood, as I turned my back on him without waiting for a reply.

I was still trying to keep my rebellious feelings in check, when I climbed the ramp and entered the ship.

«Good, you’re here.» The pilot’s voice, rough and unpleasantly unexpected, snuck up on me. I swirled on my feet, and I found him standing in the corridor, looking like he had just arrived from the Maker knew where in the smallest ship I had ever been subjected to. «I’ll show you to your room.»

«Thank you» I replied, mechanically. Now that I was onboard, the old dislike for starships was resurfacing even more quickly than usual. The artificial smell of plasteel, recycled air and motor oil was already taking the place of the earthy, fresh scent of Chandrilan woods and wild flowers, and I forced myself not to recoil from it, baring my teeth in utter disgust.

The pilot passed me by, with the clear intent of leading the way. I had barely made a step, however, that he stopped dead in his track, almost making me bump into his back. He had the strangest smirk on his lips as he turned, face all lit up and dark eyes twinkling.

«...unless you’d like to watch the takeoff from the cockpit?» he added, oddly hopeful, in a way that I couldn’t quite place. He hadn’t looked particularly appreciative of my presence so far, and I wasn’t sure what had changed now. The one thing I knew, however, was that I had no wish whatsoever to see our summer house disappear beneath us, or the space contract as we switched into hyperdrive.

«I have some work to do, before we reach Coruscant» I cautiously replied. I didn’t particularly care for his feelings, but it would make little sense to antagonize the one person I would have to share that ridiculously small transport with for the next hours. «I think I had better start on it as soon as possible.»

The pilot’s face showed disappointment in such an obvious way that I had to wonder if it was deliberate, but after a second he just shrugged, starting again down the corridor.

«I’ll show you to your room, then» he repeated, taking a turn and then pressing his thumb on a metallic plaque in the wall. The plasteel door opened with a whoosh, and behind that I found a small room, with my luggage tidily piled up on one side and a bunk bed welded to the wall on the other. Between them, there were a tiny circular table and two chairs. It was a small room, and a bit too essential for my comfort, but it would do in a pinch.

«There is a private refresher behind that screen» the pilot added, with a small nod towards a plasteel door placed at the far end of the bed.

«Thank you, Poe» I replied, forcing myself to add the name to the sentence. He was still _the pilot_ in my mind, and I didn’t really care for him being anything different than that.

The pilot nodded, openly studying me with searching brown eyes. They had looked almost hazel in the bright Chandrilan sun, but the artificial lights of the cargo were painting them in a dark, shadowy hue.

«If you need anything, you can connect your pad to the cargo’s intercom system. It’s coupled directly to the cockpit’s flying console.» He hooked his thumbs in his pant’s eyelets, and tilted his head slightly to the side. «The takeoff’s gonna be bumpy. You’d better sit down until we jump into hyperspace.»

«I will.»

The pilot lingered a moment longer, before nodding again and leaving me to my room.

Once alone, mindful of the pilot’s warning, I took my pad from the satchel piled on top of my luggage and I sat in one of the chairs. I was going to wait obediently for the take-off, but I would go crazy with nothing to do, while the despicable thing I was currently flying in lifted its pitiful bulk from the ground and got lost amongst the stars.

I turned on the pad with a light touch, and the system connected immediately with the ship’s intercom. The program had apparently been loaded with some of the cargo’s specifics, but I had no need to know the exact structure of the death trap I was entrusting my life to. I scrolled by, ignoring the connection, and opened a file on Coruscanti immigration laws that Lady Lilandra had sent me as part of my preparation.

I forced myself not to flinch when I felt the engine rumble around me, shaking the plasteel pavement up to the chair I was currently sitting on. It didn’t matter that I was alone–the next time I might as well not be, and I had to get over that illogical dislike. I had been quite good at hiding it, so far, but more because I had avoided flying almost completely than for my dissimulation skills. That was only the fifth time in twenty-four cycles that I had to take a transport, but I couldn’t very well expect to avoid flying altogether, as part of an ambassador’s retinue. The sooner I would learn how to disguise my true feelings, the better.

The trembling running through the plasteel structure quieted down until almost disappearing, before getting worse. I braced myself for the unpleasant, unfamiliar pull of hyperspace, and I watched my knuckles turn white as I used my free hand to grip the edge of the table with so much force I vaguely worried I would break it. Then the pull faded, and the shaking dwindled until it disappeared.

I was still trying to ease my breathing, when the intercom coupled to my pad chimed fastidiously.

«The jump went off without a hitch» came the pilot’s voice, slightly distorted by my pad’s rudimental sound system. «We’ll reach our destination in little more than six hours.»

I breathed again, deeply, before skimming my thumb over the pad’s surface and selecting a glaring icon in one of the corners. The pad’s lighting switched to a bright red, as I opened the channel.

«What is our destination?» I asked, trying to sound authoritative, and not merely nervous and looking for some purchase.

The reply was delayed so slightly that I almost missed the pause, but a pause definitely had happened.

«The Outer Rim.»

I was alone, and I was rattled, so I allowed myself the luxury of frowning.

«That is a little vague.»

Father hadn’t told me about my destination either, but I had guessed that, once onboard, there would be no reason for secrecy. Who would I tell? The Emperor’s ghost?

The pause before the pilot’s reply, this time, was impossible to miss.

«I can’t be more specific.»

It never occurred to me that I could not be deemed worthy of trust, and I didn’t particularly appreciate the idea that I would be shipped on and off the Resistance’s planet like a package, with no more information nor importance than that.

«Is it a need-to-know type of intelligence?» I asked, more incredulous than annoyed. I understood the need for discretion, but that was pure paranoia. It was not the Rebellion. There was no Empire. We were living in a Galactic Republic, for crying out loud, not hiding from the evil Emperor and his black hound.

«Not exactly - came the pilot’s slow, careful reply - It’s just... a secret. An important one.»

Ludicrous.

«Very well» I answered, too unnerved by the subtly nagging knowledge that we were in space, with no anchor nor direction, to temper the harshness of my tone. I closed the communication, and laid my pad down on the table, as I tried to master the slight tremors racking my hands.

The pilot didn’t try to open the conversation again.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to anyone who took the time to read my story and leave kudos and comments. They were much appreciated!

After that rocky start, the plain boredom of hyperspace travel managed to soothe even my insubordinate rattled nerves. Once the ship had settled into light-speed, the room felt as quiet and isolated as my old student quarters on Coruscant, if smaller and barer, and I could finally force myself to shift my focus on something different than the intolerable emptiness stretching just outside the thin plasteel walls.

Physical comfort seemed a nice, easy way to start. I weighted my options. After the way we had closed our last conversation, it seemed unlikely that the pilot would bother me again over the next six hours, while the stifling heat of the artificially warmed-up room was extremely immediate, and unpleasantly real. The raised hood was making breathing difficult, in the close environment, and the cloak was heavy and unnecessarily thick over my shoulders. Getting rid of it seemed the most logical solution.

I took the rich velvety cloth from my shoulders and I folded it carefully, before laying it on top of the bunk bed. Without the heavy cloak, the room seemed already less suffocating, and somewhat less tiny.

Marginally more at ease, I sat back at the ridiculously microscopic table, and after having tidily rearranged the skirt around my ankles with a mechanical gesture, I immersed myself once again in Coruscant’s immigration laws. I could do nothing for the repellent artificial smell, or the subtle, steady buzzing of the plasteel walls, but I could isolate myself from it, and so I did, mind light-years away from that microscopic cargo lost amongst gigantic planets and titanic stars.

It wasn’t until two hours later that I was to be reminded that I was on a starship, not in my student room on Coruscant, and that I was not alone. The buzzing of the door cut through my absolute concentration like a slap, and felt just as unpleasant.

«Yes?» I snapped, remembering too late that I was not protected by the hood of my cloak anymore.

The damage was done. When the plasteel door whooshed open, the pilot’s curious gaze fell immediately on my exposed face.

«I’m sorry to bother you» he said, although he didn’t look particularly apologetic. «Is your room alright?»

I could only imagine what my face looked like. It had been extremely sloppy on my part, a weakness I could not tolerate. As I delicately laid the pad down on the table, I fought to reconstruct my carefully blank expression, to look serene and pleasant and not troubled at all. Being reminded of where I was, of course, made the struggle unfairly arduous.

«It is adequate» I bit out, almost winching at how harsh it sounded. «I am sure I can survive in it for another four hours.»

The pilot stilled at the rudeness of my tone. The artificial lights made his dark hair shone of an unnatural, almost coppery shade, blending the edges. I didn’t seem to be able to point out the exact colour of his eyes and hair any more than I could define what was going on in his head.

The pilot was staring at me with such intensity that I was beginning to wonder if I had truly offended him, when he finally spoke again.

«You don’t like me» he remarked. There was an odd quality to his voice, as though he was finding the idea more curious than upsetting. «Is it because I’m Resistance?»

I was not supposed to make that kind of blunders–I was a trained diplomat, about to begin a priced internship with one of the finest ambassadors of the entire Republic. A misstep of such magnitude was a disgrace. Not only I had allowed something as unremarkable as a short trip on a starship to upset me, but I had also let genuine dislike slip through the cracks, and I had permitted that stranger, that _pilot_ , to pinpoint a weak spot and crush it open. I was so deeply ashamed of my behaviour that I barely stopped myself from blushing in absolute, abject mortification.

«That would hardly make sense» I observed, trying to patch up the damage as well as I could. It would do no good to let the pilot that was taking me to General Organa know how little sympathy I held for his sort, if not for the paranoid civil war they were brewing. «I’m coming all the way to the Outer Rim to help you.»

The pilot leaned on the doorjamb, wedging a shoulder against the plasteel frame. He looked relaxed, muscles loose and body perfectly at ease, but the eyes were sharp, and fixed, and unyielding. He didn’t seem amenable to let it go, but what puzzled me the most was that he also didn’t look remotely upset by what had to feel, from his point of view, unjustified dislike.

«Is it because I’m a pilot, then?»

The words stuck into my skin like blades. I went absolutely still, willing each and every expression away from my face. I remembered Lady Lilandra’s voice, as she guided me through meditation.

_Calm as a lake. Completely flat. Take nothing. Give nothing. Not a ripple._

«I do not hate pilots» I replied, eventually, trying to take some small comfort in how collected my voice sounded.

The pilot’s lips quirked up, as he crossed his arms over his chest.

«I didn’t say hate - he observed, unfairly smug for such a little slip on my part - I said dislike.»

I swallowed a scoff, annoyance replacing burning shame. That was getting ridiculous.

«I _dislike_ flying» I offered, in a graceless attempt to deflect his attention.

It was not exactly a subtle way to avoid his question, but it had the desired effect. As if the simple notion was somehow offensive to him, the pilot straightened up, loosening the arms he had crossed over his chest and staring at me with a disbelieving expression.

«There is nothing in the universe better than flying» he declared, thick eyebrows tightly knitted over his forehead. His tanned skinned looked unfairly golden in the artificial light, while my pale hands just seemed sallow and sickly.

I shrugged, as I regained a more solid footing.

«I had rather have my feet planted on solid earth. But I will survive.»

The pilot scoffed at the blatant ridiculousness of that idea. His eyes looked weirdly alive, twinkling and brilliant. I disliked the implicit weakness of sitting down while being confronted by a standing opponent, but it was one of the many things I was trying to get used to, and learn how to turn to my own advantage.

«Flying is... pure freedom - the pilot tried to explain, as if attempting to illustrate something obvious and impossible to describe to a very small, very ignorant child - There is no dimension, really. Up and down are like left and right, forward and backward.» He smiled, all of a sudden. His various displays of emotions seemed to change just as quickly as the flight of a starship, all jagged angles and dizzying loops and about-turns, and I despaired ever to get used to it. «It’s like swimming. Do you like swimming?»

That felt unnecessarily personal. I didn’t know where he was trying to get, but I was not about to volunteer any more information than I already foolishly had.

«I can swim» I offered, warily.

The pilot’s smile quirked up in a self-satisfied, amused grin, as if he had somehow foreseen my attempt to deflect the question.

«That’s not what I asked.»

That pilot was _undoubtedly_ more perceptive than I had given him credit for. I would need to be much more careful, speaking to him. He looked like that kind of person who only had to be shown a trick once to find their way around it.

«Yes» I replied, feeling heavily the inadequacy of that simple answer, so I added: «I used to spend my summers at the Silver Sea.»

The readiness with which I had volunteered a fragment of my past shocked me into silence. It was barely a scrap, but it wasn’t something I did very often, and especially not with a person I disliked so badly. Not with a _pilot_. Not with someone I was trying to misdirect, to prevent from barging in even more than he already had, firmly wedging a foot inside the door the moment I opened a sliver.

It was not even a lie. I liked swimming in the Silver Sea, floating as if I had no weight whatsoever, and the universe was reduced to the darkness behind my closed eyelids and the warm salty water gently lapping at my sides.

Pity for the base nearby–every time I heard a plane fly overhead, I couldn’t avoid thinking about my mother. There was nothing I hated more than that.

The pilot’s smile grew soft, as if my having shared something so inconsequential had genuinely pleased him.

«It’s a beautiful place. I lived there for five years. I was studying at the New Academy.»

Of course he had. Another damnable pilot, learning how to fly one of those abhorrent X-wings in the sky over what would otherwise be the most peaceful place on Chandrila.

I fought to keep my expression blank, to prevent him from seeing through. I could do it. I had done it so often in the past, I could do it again. Even as I was flying on a disgusting cargo ship with that insufferably nosy pilot.

«Of course, the Academy» I said, strangling a sneer, swallowing a sharper edge to my voice, eradicating anything and everything until utter blankness was the only thing left. «Did you enjoy your stay on Chandrila?»

The pilot was still observing me, attentive and strangely curious. I could only hope that my face was giving away nothing at all.

«Very much» he answered, with a genuine smile that easily reached his eyes. He leaned back against the door, thumbs hooked in his pant’s eyelets. «So much green and so much blue. It reminded me a little of Yavin 4.» At my quirked eyebrow, he unnecessarily elaborated: «I’m from there.»

That was... interesting.

«Yavin 4? Where Luke Skywalker built his Jedi Temple?»

I didn’t know much about the Force, aside what was common knowledge, but _everyone_ knew Luke Skywalker. He was much like the Old Republic, or the Jedi Council. A myth in his own right.

«Yes» came the pilot’s slow, smirking reply. «The very same.»

I _had_ to ask. I knew how unwise that was, but I _had_ to.

«How... is he?»

The pilot shrugged, somewhat awkwardly, from his reclined position against the doorjamb.

«I haven’t seen much of him, - he replied, in an oddly indifferent tone for someone so lively, as if that was a question he had to answer once too many - but my parents knew him. He came to our house a couple of times. He’s kinder than what most people think, but never truly there, if it makes sense. Detached, somehow. Far away.»

Which was... strangely similar to how I had pictured him. A god-like, estranged figure watching over the Republic from a secluded place. Wasn’t that how Jedi were supposed to be?

«What about the Force?»

That was what Luke Skywalker had, what made him special–supreme power. I couldn’t deny the appeal that notion had on me.

The pilot shrugged again.

«He gave us a Force tree to plant in our backward, so that the Force would always protect us - he recalled, and for a moment he looked unreachable, closed off and far away, voice shockingly bitter - It didn’t work too well, though.» He fell silent after that, but just when I felt like I was supposed to say something, _anything_ , to bring him back from wherever he had sequestered himself, he suddenly blinked, focusing his dark eyes back on me and asking cheerfully: «Are you interested in the Force?»

The mood switch had been so abrupt, so utterly unpredictable, that for a moment I was too startled to fish for a proper answer.

«I am a politician - I quipped then, feeling utterly appalled at my ill-advised honesty even as my lips curled up in a little smirk - Of course I am interested in power.»

The pilot burst out laughing at my blunt reply, open and loud and startlingly sincere.

«Power is power, I guess» he agreed, with a wicked grin. «Anyway, I was saying... yes. Swimming is like flying. You can go wherever you want. Gravity doesn’t bind you anymore. You’re truly free.»

I blinked, as the pure, unadulterated horror of that simple concept surfaced like a shark from the deep treacherous waters of my mind. Floating used to feel soothing, and freeing, until that moment when the world would suddenly expand around me, in every dimension, and I would realise that there was something _else_ beyond the darkness and the warm water, and that I couldn’t distinguish the up from the down anymore, and the right from the left, and that I was left drifting in a devouring emptiness. I would open my eyes then, sudden and panicky, and I would stop floating, flailing about as I frantically fought to regain a perspective.

I felt my throat dry up as I spoke again, mindlessly, picturing the silent, unfathomable expanse of the boundless space we were currently travelling through.

«You are lost, - I whispered, feeling adrift and forsaken, with that unfamiliar pilot as the only solid point in the strangling nothingness to hold onto - and you are alone.»

«Is that what you’re afraid of?»

The pilot’s gaze was as sharp as a needle when I glanced up. I couldn’t remember looking away.

«I am not _afraid_ \- I bit out, denial coming swift to my tongue - It just feels better knowing that you have a reference point, without relying solely on a computer. At least, planet-side, you know the difference between up and down.» I smirked, uneasiness giving a jagged edge to my ferocious smile.  «Without crashing, that is.»

«I’ll have you know that I’ve _never_ crashed a ship» the pilot bragged, with an impish grin.

In that exact moment, as if his smugness had summoned disaster, the ship wrenched and bucked around us, with a high-pitch, terrifying wringing sound. My heart thud painfully in my chest. I grasped the plasteel table, as my pad fell skittering to the ground.

The pilot stumbled back in the corridor, crashing against the opposite wall before dropping on his knees. I could barely breathe. I stared at him with barred eyes as the ship painfully straightened itself up, just as a distressing range of deafening alarms began to blare through the corridors. The pilot’s eyes were startled and a little dazed as they met mine, and that alone did nothing to calm down my incipient panic attack.

«...that was not good» he gritted out, as he finally managed to get to his feet.

I was out of my chair before he had even made a step. I had no intention of being left behind to die alone in that small, ludicrous, pathetic room, and I was at his heels as he ran towards the cockpit.

«I had no need to witness your first time!» I shouted uselessly at the back of his head, as we reached the forefront of that ridiculously tiny ship.

What I saw from the cockpit stopped me dead on my track. Behind the transparisteel viewport, the stars were stretching and contracting as elastic segments of blinding light, writhing and twisting in a chaotic jumble. It was a horrifying sight.

I almost bit my tongue as the ship jerked again under us, and I was sent crashing against the pilot’s side. I didn’t tumble on the ground like a rag doll only because he half-turned to grab my arms, forcefully and almost painfully, keeping me upright.

«I’m gonna fix this!» he shouted, trying to be heard over the earsplitting alarms. «Stay out of the way!»

I didn’t know what to reply to that, so I just obeyed, too stunned to protest. I dragged myself to the cockpit door, and there I stayed, holding onto the plasteel frame as the pilot dashed frantically about, pressing buttons and muttering to himself. My mind was completely numb, too shocked even to experience properly the devouring terror. We were about to be left afloat in open space amongst the debris of our shattered freighter, and I could do absolutely nothing about it. It was something that I couldn’t control, I couldn’t manoeuvre. I was utterly, distressingly useless to ensure my own survival.

The ship lurched again around us, plasteel whining pitifully as it barely held together. The shuddering convulsions would have sent me crashing to the ground, had I not been clutching the door frame for dear life. The pilot slammed his hands on the console to keep himself upright.

«The compressor has been putting too much pressure on the hyperdrive» he shouted in my general direction, as if _that_ would make any sense to me. «This transport is too old for that kind of power. It was spiralling out of hyperspace, so the computer tried to compensate with another jump.»

I could barely hear him over the blaring alarms, but the pilot looked like he was talking to himself more than me. He dashed to the other side of the cockpit and wrenched open a panel, starting to yank out a handful of colourful cables.

«I need to bypass the compressor and get us out of hyperspace, or the next jump could throw us into a supernova!»

And didn’t _that_ sound comforting.

Before I could say anything, the cables that the pilot had been sorting out and smashing together sparked of pure energy, and with a heart-wrenching, screeching wail, the ship shuddered one last time. The twitching stars outside the viewport bloomed into something yellow-greenish and bright and gigantic, blocking the entire view.

«I did it! We’re out of hyperspace!» the pilot exulted, jumping over his seat and settling at the console. I couldn’t make sense of whatever was happening, even less coordinate high functions like moving my legs, so I stayed where I was, clutching the door frame and watching him as he whacked at buttons and switches with nausea-inducing speed.

Whatever that yellow thing outside the viewport was, it looked like it wasn’t going anywhere. I uselessly tried to strangle the subtle voice in the back of my head that was whispering that, if anything, it was getting _closer_.

I felt my heart in my throat as the pilot’s frantic rapping came to a halt, and he lifted his head to stare at the giant, yellowish mass straight in front of us. Whatever he did, it had worked like a charm on the ship’s alarms, which were now reduced to a frenzied beeping coming out of a glaring red panel that was unhappily flashing from the console.

«The bad news - he said, with a strangely calm voice - is that we jumped out of hyperspace too close to that planet, and now its mass is drawing us towards it. I don’t have enough power left to fight the pull.»

I heard my voice as if it was somebody else’s, so rough and cracked that I barely recognized it.

«We are crashing, then.»

The pilot turned half-way to glance at me from the corner of his eye.

«I can still partially manoeuvre the ship, we ain’t gonna _crash_ it» he huffed, before turning his attention back to the console. «You should come and sit here, though. We’ll have a bumpy landing.»

I gritted my teeth, as I forced myself to stand upright. The ship wasn’t jerking around me anymore, at least, and even if we were about to crash on it, seeing a planet was still much better than that terrifying cacophony of stars.

«You don’t say» I grumbled, as I picked my way to the co-pilot’s seat. My legs felt like boneless strings, and I was wobbling ignominiously as I covered the small distance. I refused to let myself fall on the seat, though, and even if my limbs were trembling, I sat down as gracefully as I could.

«You’d better fasten your seatbelt, too» the pilot suggested, as if I hadn’t spoken. He didn’t even look at me, busy as he was to tap on his console and worry at one of the small panels he had been wrenching open.

I felt perfectly justified in sending him a thorough dirty look. I had almost died, after all, and I still wasn’t sure I would survive the worst transport ever built in the history of mankind. But I complied–I fastened my seatbelt and grasped the armrests, as I stared at the yellowish surface coming closer and closer. There were blue spots, too, surrounded by ringlets of deep green, and yellow and tawny expanses.

«We’re entering atmo» the pilot warned me, fastening his own seatbelt and pushing up a lever. I sucked a breath as the ship started to vibrate again around us, tongues of flame licking the viewport before disappearing like will-o’-the-wisps over Chandrilan marshlands. «There are a few inhabited cities around here, but I’ll try to land us in open territory.»

«Why?» I asked, too shocked to think properly at how unwise it was to distract the only person standing between me and an ugly death. «If the ship is damaged after the landing, - _if we survive at all_ \- we could find help in those cities. Spare parts.»

The pilot winched as he pushed another button, and the trembling increased so quickly and so violently that I felt the seat shake under me.

«That... wouldn’t be very smart» he remarked, as I pressed myself against the back of the seat and I prayed to the Maker. «That last jump brought us completely off-track. We are in the Unknown Territories.»

The Unknown Territories. I had heard about them, of course, as any other child in the galaxy had. Lawless planets, where chaos and war and hunger ruled as kings over an exhausted population, shrivelled down to nothing as they toiled day after day barely to survive in that harsh nothingness. The Unknown Territories were the place where wet nurses from every planet threatened to send naughty children, to die of hunger and thirst under the whip of a warmonger tyrant.

It was a credit to my sheltered, Core-centred upbringing that I didn’t even think about those stories, as I struggled to make sense of the pilot’s words as our flimsy transport rattled and screeched around us.

I had lived all my childhood on Chandrila, and later on I had stayed on Coruscant. I felt like I knew as much of the Galaxy as the next man, and maybe more, deeply steeped in politics as I had been since I was five years old. I had seen holos of poorer planets, of course, but they had looked somewhat domesticated, contained. Problems easy to resolve, if only the Senate would divert some of its infinite resources towards better causes than brewing civil wars. As for the lawlessness of those far-away regions, it was something that I couldn’t even comprehend. Chandrila was so perfectly organized that littering the ground was an offence I hadn’t even been able to fathom, before stepping foot on Coruscant, and the somewhat imperfectly regimented Galactic City, with its seedy lower levels, was to me the worst hive of villainy that could possibly exist in a civilized galaxy.

My ignorance was so absolute, and my view so narrow, that I couldn’t even contemplate a place that the long, strong arm of the Republic couldn’t reach.

I opened my mouth to reply, but whatever I was about to say died on my tongue as the yellow engulfed us, and brown mountains and thickets of green wood jumped at us at ferocious speed. The atmosphere was giving me the perspective I had so sorely missed, and I could easily say, now, that we were falling, diving nose-first towards the planet’s surface. The seatbelt was digging painfully in my chest, and I knew that, without it, I would have ended up flattened against the viewport.

«Don’t worry. I _will_ land this ship» the pilot spitted through gritted teeth, but I couldn’t say if he was trying to reassure me, or taking a vow.

I turned to look at him, and I realised that his sharp profile was much more soothing than the planet we were about to crash on. So I just went on staring, taking in his broad forehead and his straight nose, his round chin and his thick, black brows, tightly knitted over utterly focused brown eyes. His hair looked slightly curled from that distance, and there was a darker, five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. He was handsome, in a rough, swarthy sort of way.

I should have taken some comfort, I supposed, from the fact that we would make a couple of truly pretty corpses.

«I. Will. Land. This. Ship» the pilot bit out, eyes switching between the console and the landscape running towards us through the viewport. He lowered a lever and pressed a giant red button, before grabbing the tiller and yanking it back to his chest. He had broad hands, I thought airily, with strong fingers and tidily clipped nails.

I barely heard the transport _roar_ at that last abuse, and then the ship was straightening up, slowly, painfully, gaining some blue in the endless yellow. I could see the profiles of white peaks, now, capping a huge mountain range that cut like a blade through the endless plane.

I had taken for granted that the yellow belonged to a desert, but it wasn’t a desert we were about to crash on. It was a boundless, monotonous savannah, covered with high, burned, yellow grass, broken by the isolated tall tree or the green, thick forest almost covering bright blue watering holes.

«I’m gonna try to land us near those woods! Hold on!» the pilot shouted, as if _where_ he was gonna land the damn ship was the problem. I closed my eyes, and I resigned to die as I cut out the yellow, and the green, and the blue, and the pilot’s focused, sharp eyes as he tried his best to hold the cargo together while it touched the ground.

The shock of the impact ricocheted through the ship like a laser blast, spreading through the layers and the plasteel sheets as the cargo screeched in pure agony. We bounced against the hard terrain once, twice, until my head was spinning and I lost count. The seatbelt was slashing through my chest like a string of fire, and I felt as though my head was quite ready to hop off my neck and roll under the console.

I was barely aware of the moment the ship stopped skipping, and finally came to a halt against a low tree. The last jolt had sent my head crashing hard against the headrest, and my ears were ringing when I finally realised that we were not moving anymore. Dark, pellucid spots were dancing in front of my eyes, and with a deep groan I touched the back of my head to make sure that everything was still in the right place.

I was so dazed and so confused that I barely felt a hand touching my shoulder. The sluggishness with which I turned to look at it would have been embarrassing, in another context, but now I could only follow the leather-clad arm up until I met with a face, and concerned dark eyes. The pilot had loosened his seatbelt and was now carefully checking me over, probably to make sure that he hadn’t accidentally killed his passenger.

«Are you ok?» he asked, and it was a testament to how disoriented I was that I didn’t even flinch when he cupped my cheek with the other hand. «It’s over, now. We landed. Pretty much alright.»

« _Pretty much_?» I repeated, voice cracking and croaking.

The pilot smiled, broad and full of relief, with a trace of humour wedged somewhere in it.

«Oh, good, you can still complain. Can’t be anything too serious, then.»

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it, barely noticing when he dropped his hands. The dark spots dwindled to nothing, and the ringing in my ears waned just as gradually.

«We crashed - I declared, slowly, before my voice rose on its own accord - We CRASHED! I... we _crashed_. And we are still alive.»

« _Of course_ we’re still alive» the pilot huffed, as if my lack of faith personally wounded him. «And we didn’t _crash_. We had a... rough landing.»

«We. Crashed» I repeated, pointedly jabbing at his shoulder with my finger at each word. «The stupid cargo almost fell apart under our arses, and you _crashed_ it.»

«Do they teach you that kind of language at your ambassador school?» the pilot quipped back, as his smile turned into a wicked grin. The _rough landing_ , as he had called it, had wreaked utter havoc over his already unruly hair, and black curls were hanging in front of his face. My hand itched to push them back, to give some kind of order to a universe that had dramatically stopped to make any sense.

«I studied Intergalactic Politics for five years at the Royal Academy on Coruscant, and I graduated top of my class. Do _not_ talk about it as if I took a pottery course on Tatooine.»

The pilot’s dark eyes twinkled, as he studied me with a growing smirk.

«So, that’s how you are under the polished politician coating. Arrogant and touchy.»

I could hear a fraction of my brain _screaming_ at me to get a grip, to seal the door before that dangerous stranger could pry it open until it ripped the hinges, but I couldn’t. I had almost died, first in open space, and then in the worst landing I had ever experienced. I had no control left, only spiralling anger and terror and residual shock, adrenaline swirling through my veins. I could hear the rush of blood in my ears, and the ferocious pounding of my heart against my ribcage.

«You are the one to talk - I snarled back - The best pilot of the Resistance. Tell me you do not feel a shiver every time you hear that. Tell me, and I will know you for a liar.»

I didn’t know what I had expected. A denial, maybe. An angry rebuttal. A slap, even. I surely hadn’t foreseen a startled, cheerful laughter, so deeply felt that he threw his head back as the cockpit ringed with the throaty sound of it.

«I’d say your head is more than alright» he observed, eventually, full lips pulled up in an amused grin. «Let’s see about our ship, now.»

Mindful of all the damage I had already done, allowing my tongue to run faster than my brain, I wisely decided to shut up. I let him busy himself with the cargo, as I assessed the damage. Nothing serious, or so it seemed. My neck was hurting, my head was hurting, my chest was hurting, but I was alive, and I was still in one piece. It was a much more joyful situation than the one I had foreseen, lost in space with a transport falling apart around us.

Carefully, I loosened my seatbelt, feeling marginally better as the painful pressure over my chest disappeared. I stretched up, automatically straightening my skirt and checking my hair, and I felt a vague sense of pride as I verified that Hora’s hairstyle was just as perfect as it had been when I left Chandrila.

As I turned my attention back to him, I saw the pilot standing outside the cockpit doorframe, studying with a somewhat worried expression a piece of plasteel that he kept turning in his hands. Just behind him, one of the panels in the corridor was laying wide open, showing grids and cables running through its whole length.

«Everything in order?» I asked, moving close enough to glance at whatever it was that he found so riveting. It looked like some anonymous debris to me, but then again, I could have said the same for the entire cargo.

«Not exactly - the pilot sighed, pushing the slip of metal in my face as if seeing it up close could give me any clue whatsoever - This is a piece of the injector. It floods the compressor with coolant. If the injector doesn’t work, the compressor overheats, and that puts extreme stress on the hyperdrive. What _that_ means you’ve already seen.»

«So, is that what happened?» I asked, frowning at the debris. It was so small. It didn’t look important at all.

The pilot shrugged, going back to contemplate wistfully his plasteel scrap.

«The pressure of the hyperdrive was too much for the injector to handle. It worked up to Chandrila, but another six hours of light speed were too much to ask. It broke down, and I can’t do anything to fix it. We’re stranded here.»

I stilled, as an ugly shiver licked down my spine.

«What do you mean, _stranded_? - I questioned, staring at him with open horror - We are on a planet. There are cities, you said. There _must_ be someone here willing to help us, surely?»

«Unknown Territories - he repeated, as if that meant anything at all - Maybe the Republic or the Resistance have some friends out here, but I don’t know for sure. I’ll try and see what I can do.»

Whatever he was saying, it made no sense at all to me.

«We don’t need _friends_ , we have credits. Don’t you have a speeder on this thing? We could go to the closest city and buy whatever we need. Maybe rent another ship? One that _works_?»

For a second, when the pilot looked up, there was something resembling real fury in his eyes. Nothing I had said to him so far had sparked that kind of reaction, and it shocked me into silence.

« _This_ is what the Resistance got, since the Republic cut whatever funds the General had managed to scrap together. Old X-Wings and even older transports.» He bit his lip in anger, as if he was trying to reign his rage in. «You treat this ship as if it was the saddest lump of trash you’d ever seen, but it’s precious to us. Once gone, it’s one less transport we can count on, and nothing will take its place. So no, I ain’t gonna abandon it here. We’re gonna leave this planet, and this ship is coming with us.»

There was a finality, to his words, that made me reconsider whatever retort I was about to spit out.

«Very well» I replied, somewhat rigidly, and with a last, hard, lingering look, the pilot slid back into his seat and resumed his swift tapping at the console. It didn’t look like he had anything to add to his little tirade, and I was feeling so useless, standing silently behind his seat and watching him work, that the need to do _something_ was becoming overwhelming. The small, cramped space of the cockpit was also threatening to suffocate me, so I did the most logical thing I could think off–I left the pilot to his tinkering and I went to carry out the only task I felt qualified for, which was checking my luggage and assessing the damage. The transport wasn’t so big that he would have difficulties to find me, if he needed me. And I couldn’t just stand there anymore, wondering if I would ever set foot again on my home planet.

My crates, when I stepped back into my room, were all over the place. At least, thanks to Hora’s careful supervision, most of them had been sealed so perfectly that they were still closed, but a few cases had been ripped open by the violent convulsions of our sad freighter, and their content strewn all over the floor. With a sigh, I gave up contemplating the wreckage and I stooped down to pick my pad off the floor. The screen was slightly cracked, but everything else seemed to be in working order. I laid it on the small table, still in place just because it was bolted to the floor, and I put myself to work. As I picked up my stuff, folding clothes, straightening headdresses and checking for damage, I thought about the pilot’s words.

I knew about the Resistance’s predicament, of course. It was the very goal of my mission, the reason why I had been chosen for it–my ties both to a Resistance sympathizer, my father, and to an eminent member of the highest political spheres of the Core planets, Lady Lilandra. I was supposed to fly to the Resistance base, meet General Organa and open a diplomatic channel between her and the Chandrilan Ambassador. My mission was to verify the real situation of the Resistance Headquarters and report back to Lady Lilandra, together with whatever message General Organa would see fit to send her, and the reason why I was doing all of that was the desperate need for ships, manpower and funds the Resistance was currently in.

The pilot wasn’t lying, when he had accused the New Republic to have picked the Resistance’s resources to the bones. The Resistance was tolerated, but no funds were diverted to it anymore, since there was no official proof that the First Order was to be considered a threat. Only a few Senators, like my father, believed in whatever the General was trying to do, and the Resistance was barely surviving with the poor scraps their sympathizers managed to pour in its pockets. Lady Lilandra, with her strong ties to the wealthy central planets, would be a prized connection to make, if the General were to swing her to their side. Father had managed to pick Lady Lilandra interest, and I was supposed to do the rest.

Either way, an allegedly neutral Chandrilan Ambassador could not be openly associated with such a politically charged organization, with its strong Populist ties, nor linked to a disgraced Senator, with no less than Darth Vader’s blood in her vein. If I carried out a successful mission, I was to become Lady Lilandra’s liaison with General Organa, and work to keep money and equipment flowing from the Core planets to the Resistance.

I knew all of that, from a theoretical point of view. But knowing a concept and understanding a reality were two very different things, I was discovering, and I felt somewhat ashamed at never having truly considered what it would mean for the Resistance to be in such a desperate state of need. I knew how destitute the Resistance was, how understaffed and underequipped, but I had never thought once that this disgraceful cargo could be the best they had to offer.

Then again, I had many reservations about the existence of the Resistance, and even more about the complete independence from the central government that it represented. As brave and valiant as the Resistance was, it still represented a breach from the Galactic Senate, and its paramilitary status did nothing to lessen the threat that it represented. One day, a disgraced Senator had decided to put together an armed fleet to pursue a private war against an enemy that only she could see, without any proof whatsoever, and I could think of very few things more dangerous than that. If one ex-Senator could build up her own vigilante army, anyone could, and the step between a Resistance force against the First Order and a multitude of private armies strewn across the Galaxy, each of them fighting their own private war, was a frightfully small one, from my point of view.

The truth was, I had been entangled in a very difficult situation. I was supposed to convince my mentor of the soundness of a cause I didn’t truly believe in, nor wholeheartedly support, and I would do it because my father was utterly fascinated by General Organa and I could never deny him anything. That meant that the ground on which I was constructing my case was shaky at best, and the fact that I couldn’t even fathom a menace like the one the General was ranting about didn’t make my position any stronger.

That line of thoughts captured my focus so completely that it took me a long moment to register the pilot’s presence, when his voice interrupted my gloomy brooding.

«Here you are» he remarked simply, standing just outside the door I had left wide open.

From my position, crouched on the ground amongst my scattered belongings, I took in the pilot’s brown leather boots, and I slowly made my way up to his down-casted eyes. He had lost his jacket, and rolled the sleeves of his light brown shirt up to his elbows. His forearms were covered in black hairs, thin enough but so long and dark that not even his tanned complexion could conceal them effectively in the harsh unforgiving light.

«Yes - I replied, warily, but somewhat honestly - I thought I would be more useful here.»

My gaze had lingered on his naked forearms, as I spoke. I had grown up on a planet where personal grooming was considered the cardinal rule for any kind of social interaction, and unkemptness a private shame and a public insult. Neither man nor woman on Chandrila would have considered allowing their skin to be covered in hairs, and even the poorest farmer lost into the hilly countryside would have at least shaved their body, if no more permanent solution had been available to them.

Having been brought up in a city, and as the child of a Senator at that, I had my own body hairs surgically removed when I was fourteen years old, and I kept my black eyebrows as thin as silk threads. I had grown somewhat used to beards on the faces of human’s males during the time I spent at the Academy, but my artificially smooth skin had contributed to remove myself from the subject to the point that exposed body hairs had taken into my mind a private and somewhat lurid hue, as though genitals were shown to me, instead of a hairy calf.

Needless to say, I wasn’t interested in seeing either, or any other part belonging to the pilot’s body. I looked away from his bare forearms, struggling to keep the distaste off my face.

_Savage._

The pilot -unaware of the unflattering turn taken by my thoughts- crouched down, so that I wouldn’t have to keep craning my neck to look up at him.

«Maybe I was too harsh, before» he said, with startlingly sincere brown eyes. «I’m sorry.»

The apology was so unexpected that I just stared at him in silence, with my brows knitted into a frown and the prurient matter of his furry forearms completely forgotten. I wasn’t too sure that the apology was deserved, either. Whatever the means of its delivery, the pilot had told nothing but the truth. So, that was what I said to him.

«You have nothing to be sorry about. I never expect people to apologize for the truth.»

The pilot shot me a quick, surprised glance, then his lips curled into what I was by now considering his customary smile, eyes crinkled up in genuine mirth.

«You ain’t as easy to predict as I thought» he commented, pleased and strangely thoughtful.

My thighs were starting to burn, crouched down as I was, and it felt silly to keep discussing from the floor. I straightened up, mechanically smoothing down the wrinkles in my gown. The pilot followed suit.

«Why would you try to predict my behaviour?» I asked, aiming for a casual tone that I hoped would cover my actual interest. From the pilot’s smirk, I doubted it did.

«Why do you think the General sent _me_ to pick you up?» he said, as if, amongst all I could ever wonder about the entire enterprise, _he_ had somehow made it to the top of the list. If that wasn’t arrogance, I didn’t know what was. «I was supposed to take your measures.»

Which would explain his strange persistence in engaging me in pointless conversations, at least.

«Wouldn’t telling me that kind of defeat the purpose?»

The pilot’s smirk grew even more, full and unmistakably delighted. He wasn’t the only one with trouble predicting the other’s behaviour.

«Maybe. Maybe not.» He crossed his arms over his chest, head slightly tilted to the side, black curls tumbling down his forehead. «Maybe it’s a test.»

«A poorly devised one, then» I replied, with a little shrug. It was a maddening thing the arrogance of this stranger, who would think of me as an easily predictable target–to read as a book, and shelf as soon as he was done.

The pilot’s grin didn’t even falter at my remark. He just stared, as if he was keeping a secret he had no intention to share.

«Well, then» I said, somewhat awkwardly, when it looked like he wasn’t about to speak any time soon. «You were looking for me. Any news?»

The pilot kept observing me for a moment longer, before loosening the arms crossed over his chest and dampening the smirk on his lips.

«Yes. You seem the kind of person who likes to have everything under control, so I thought you might want to know that I’ve charted our position. We’re in the Borderlands, deep in First Order territory. We landed on Rokran, third planet of the K’ta system. »

«The K’ta system? - I repeated, frowning - I have never heard of it.»

«That’s because the Republic’s influence doesn’t reach this quadrant» the pilot replied, with a little shrug, as if that simple notion wasn’t beyond inconceivable. «The First Order uses these planets as bases for its mining operations.»

It was the second time he had spoken of the First Order. It was strange, the idea of being so close to something that until then had only existed as a concept. I didn’t like how real it was starting to sound.

«Have you... ever been out here, before?»

The pilot’s face did something complicated, as he looked away from me, lost in space.

«Yes. That’s how the General found me. I went where I wasn’t supposed to go, and I was about to get into trouble for it.»

He had problems following orders, then. I wasn’t exactly surprised. Rash and hot-headed–perfect Resistance material.

«The way you talk about the First Order...» I paused, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. «You have met them before, have you not?»

«Yes.»

I knew I was going to ask, at some point. Since I somehow found myself deep into their territory, then and there seemed like the best time.

«I know what the General thinks of the First Order - I remarked, slow and wary - I have seen the holos. Now, _you_ tell me. Is it really so dangerous? To the point of founding a paramilitary organization to fight it?»

The pilot was staring at me again, but the smile had gone from his face. His eyes were steady and searching, face grave and brows tightly knitted.

«Yes. The Republic is making a mistake. The Starfleet is ordered not to engage, to stay within the Republic borders, and this is giving the First Order the time and space it needs to build up the power to fight and destroy the Republic.» The pilot looked like he was searching for the best words to convince me, to make me _believe_. «The First Order is a threat, and ignoring it ain’t gonna make it go away.»

That was something I could agree with. I had never understood hiding one’s head in the sand as a first reaction to danger. It never worked, and only gave your enemy the best perspective to mow you down.

«But what is it that you truly know? - I asked again, unwilling to let it go -  About whatever the Order is doing. Give me facts, not feelings.»

«Do you want facts? - the pilot scoffed, shaking his head - Well, what we _do_ know, is that the Order’s been recruiting soldiers amongst children, here where no one would care, and that entire planets have been enslaved to mine whatever it is the Order needs them to mine. They’re better armed, better trained and better equipped than what the Starfleet or the Resistance will ever be. I’ve seen what they fly. They’re violating every law and every treaty they agreed to, when they signed their peace with the Republic.» His eyes were piercing, unyielding and full of unbridled passion as he desperately tried to grab at something, _anything_ , that would make me see what he did. «I’ve fought against the Order. If the Republic will let the Order do as it pleases, it won’t stand a chance. The demilitarization of the Fleet was a huge mistake, and I don’t know how many more mistakes the Republic can take. We’re losing a war we can’t even admit we’re fighting. Can’t you _see_?»

His eyes were beseeching now, his voice almost begging.

«If this is true, why haven’t you brought proof to the Senate? If the First Order is building an army just outside the Borderlands, the Republic should know.»

«You ain’t _listening_ \- the pilot snapped - We _did_ bring this information to the Senate. No one cared. They needed more proof. I fought against an enemy that was supposed to remain peaceful and fully demilitarized behind the borders, instead than stealing freighters on board of state-of-the-art TIEs and killing Starfleet pilots in full Republic territory.» His voice was beyond bitter, and he was staring unseeingly at my feet, as he clenched his fists. «I reported all of this, and I was told to let it go. I was told that whatever sympathy they had for my grief, it’d been nothing more than an isolated accident, not worthy to fight a war over.»

Everything clicked into place. He had studied at the Academy, had reported the accident, had been told to let go. He had been a pilot in the New Republic Starfleet, and he had left it to fight his war with Leia Organa.

«That is the reason you went to the Resistance.»

«Yes. The Republic might do nothing to protect itself, but the General won’t just stand idle as the First Order brings the Empire back.» The pilot slowly lifted his eyes, looking at me again, just as his lips curved up in a sad, tired parody of the smiles I had grown used to. «My parents fought with her in the Rebellion. Felt fitting to be fighting with the same woman, under the same Starbird.»

I studied him, unwilling to give away how little I believed him, and at the same time how deeply his words had cut through. I knew with absolute certainty that he was telling the truth, but I couldn’t _believe_ that the Republic would just ignore a threat of such magnitude, dismantling its Fleet instead of priming it to fight. Not after the Empire.

The idea that the Republic was so corrupt, so inept that it was running towards its own extinction, instead of fighting for survival, was simply too terrifying to contemplate.

«Do you know why I am here? - I cautiously asked - What my mission is?»

«Yes - the pilot said, with a small nod - You’re supposed to help us. You should convince the Chandrilan Ambassador that the Resistance has every reason to exist, and that we desperately need funds to keep doing what the Republic won’t: defend us from our enemies.» His voice was bitter, when he added: «But how can you do that, when you’re the first who doesn’t believe in our work?»

I didn’t know how to reply to that. He had effortlessly read what I was trying to hide, and I had no answers for him, if not lies so blatant that he would easily see through them.

«That is why I am coming all the way to your base - I replied, deflecting his question as best as I could - To see with my own eyes what you do.» I smiled, hoping that a joke would help lighten the mood: «And who knows, maybe we will meet the infamous First Order and I will have a first-hand experience with that, too.»

The only reward I got for my trouble was a flat, almost angry stare.

«I hope you won’t, for your own sake» the pilot answered, with a harsh, grave voice. Then he sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair and pushing it back from his forehead, and the mood seemed instantly to brighten up. «It’s my job to protect you, and I wouldn’t be very good at it if I let you run into the First Order on your very first trip to our Headquarters.»

His lips were curled in one of his more typical smiles, and I tried to reciprocate, dismissing the shiver that his words and his eyes had sent slithering down along my spine. I didn’t believe in premonition. I barely believed in the Force.

«Do you have any good news for me, then?» I asked, changing the subject. It wasn’t my smoothest attempt, but the pilot seemed just as eager as I was to talk about something else. The charged topics of the First Order and the ineptitude of the Republic were momentarily put aside.

«Yes, I do, actually» he cheerfully replied, hooking his thumbs in the eyelets of his trousers. His hands were as tanned as his face, and I spotted the twin reliefs of single veins running just under the skin, from knuckles to wrists, before disappearing under the black hairs crowding his forearms. «I’ve managed to find someone using the Resistance secret frequencies, hidden in one of the planet’s main cities. I’ve sent him an encrypted message. If he’s truly one of us, he should be answering soon.»

_And what if he is not?_

I swallowed the thought before I could put it into words–sharing my doubts would do no good to anyone, and I supposed that the pilot had had enough of my pessimism for one day. It wasn’t his fault that the blasted freighter had crashed on that derelict planet, and I didn’t want to spark another discussion. I had enough on my mind.

«Very well. What do we do, while we wait?» I asked, frowning at the lightening-quick, queer glance the pilot shot me. It was gone before I could actually classify it, so I didn’t give it another thought.

«I’m going out to check the front and the landing gear. I’ve run a diagnostic from the cockpit, and it looks like there was some minor damage. Nothing I shouldn’t be able to fix myself.»

«You are going... out? - I repeated, slowly and disbelieving - What about local life forms? As far as we know, even the grass could be poisonous.»

The pilot waved a hand at me.

«This ain’t my first flight, you know» he replied, with a deeply amused smirk. «I’ve already checked. No poisonous grass, even if it warms my heart to know that you’re worried about me.»

«Of course I am worried - I snapped back, scowl deepening as he blatantly tried to stifle a laugh - You are the only one who knows how to fly this thing.»

«Such a deep regard - he remarked, brown eyes twinkling - I’m flattered.» The peeved sniffle he got in reply was apparently enough to destroy whatever restrain he possessed, and the pilot burst out laughing. «Don’t worry. There are a few dangerous carnivores, in this part of the planet, but I don’t think they’ll come to bother a huge metal cage that fell down from the sky. They have more tasty things to hunt down.»

«You look tasty enough to me» I remarked, too concentrated on the problem at hand to truly realise what was coming out of my mouth. It didn’t take me long to catch up, though, when the pilot’s thick brows shot up high enough to touch his hairline. I scoffed at his delighted grin, more annoyed than embarrassed. «You know what I mean.»

«You give the best compliments» he quipped. He looked nothing like the bone-tired Starfighter pilot who had been pleading so passionately for the Resistance, and I realised that I still couldn’t point out which one was the real Poe Dameron–or if they were just two sides of the same man. «Seriously, though, there is no need to worry. I’m gonna take my blaster with me. Everything will be fine.»

The pilot was clearly trying to be soothing, to smooth down my worries, but I had no intention of being left behind as he got eaten by a wild rancor, or whatever the equivalent was on that blasted planet.

«I am coming with you» I declared, with a tone of voice that broached no arguments. He started, as I marched towards him, and for a moment he looked somewhat lost, when I came to a halt close enough to touch him, if I had wanted to.

«And what do you think you’re gonna do, once you’re out there with me in the dangerous grass?» the pilot asked, after a small, bewildered pause. «Tempt some wild beast into eating you first, while I run off? That’s very generous of you, but...»

«Do not patronise me» I bit out, shooting at him what I hoped was a withering glance. «I could watch out for you. I could scare away any animal coming our way. Just give me a blaster.»

«You know how to use one?» he asked, sounding pleasantly surprised and somewhat impressed.

_Well._

«I know from which end it is supposed to shoot» I answered, looking away with something akin to embarrassment. The pilot laughed again, earning another ferocious glare. «I usually try to _talk_ my way out of things, you big oaf, before shooting at anything that moves!»

« _Big oaf_? - the pilot repeated, laughing so hard that I could barely make out the words - Haven’t heard _that_ one in a while!»

«Yes, I can imagine how fanciful you pilots can get with your insults, but I am _not_ going to stoop any lower than that.» I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to glare him into submission. «Give me a stupid blaster and tell me how to use it. I will try my best not to shoot you in the back, but I am not making any promises.»

«Oh, now you _really_ ain’t getting a blaster. I’d be more scared of you than of any ferocious beast coming our way.»

«Very well - I ground out, purposefully losing the battle to win the war - But I _am_ coming with you, unless you want to tie me to a chair.»

«Don’t give me ideas» he mumbled, voice so low that I barely registered it, before giving ground with a defeated sigh. «Alright, you can come. But no blasters. Shout if you see anything, and I’ll shoot at it.»

I tried my best to dampen the triumphant smile that threatened to bloom on my lips, as I followed him along the corridor, but the look I got, when he glanced back to make sure that I was coming along, made me reconsider the efficiency of my technique.

«The air is perfectly safe to breathe, of course, so we won’t be needing a suit» the pilot explained, as we reached the hangar. «Stay here. I’ll be right back.»

There was no need for a reply, so I just stood still in front of the raised ramp, watching him disappear in another corridor.

I forced myself to keep a meticulously blank mind, as I waited in the synthetic silence of the desert ship. I didn’t want to think about my mission, or the Republic, or the First Order. Above all, I had no wish whatsoever to contemplate what would follow the successful end of our little expedition, when, after having found another working injector in that place forgotten by the Maker, I would have to take off once more in that blasted death trap.

The first time had almost killed me, after all. Trying again looked like an unnecessary gamble.

The timely return of the pilot cut that dreadful train of thoughts short. He was carrying a slate grey toolbox and a folded-up plasteel ladder. I spotted a blaster at his side, hanging from a thick brown leather belt and carefully stashed inside its holster.

«You can hold the ladder, if you really want to make yourself useful» the pilot cheerfully conceded, before dumping the plasteel ladder in my arms without waiting for an answer. I barely caught it before it hit the floor, and I frowned at his back as the pilot punched some numbers in a control pad. With an ominous whirring sound, the external ramp began its descent, allowing a puff of fresh air to filter through. I smelt grass, and earth, and sunshine, and I felt oddly homesick as I stared at the sliver of clear sky getting thicker and thicker.

«You like looking at the sky, don’t you?» the pilot asked, with a strangely muted voice. «I do, too.»

«I thought you would rather be in open space - I replied, taking in the wondrous, deep blue - Skylines must bore you to death.»

«I love flying, don’t care where. But there’s nothing like flying in atmo. Skylines could never bore me.»

«Such a poetic soul you have, for a pilot» I remarked, as the ramp came to a halt against the ground. We had landed at the edge of a small forest, and I could see the tall, yellow grass give way to a greener, shorter underbrush. The first tall trees were throwing their shadows over the cargo, shading us from the burning sun.

«Didn’t think I had it in me, uh? Guess you don’t know much about pilots, then» came the smirking reply, just as I stepped on the ramp.

I turned to look at him, any trace of good mood utterly gone. Memories came flooding in, and I fought to push them back, to strangle the bitterness before it could drown me.

«I know more than I care to.»

The pilot frowned at my harsh, clipped reply, but he wisely decided to keep whatever he was thinking to himself. I breathed more freely, when he smoothly changed the subject.

«There are no local equivalents of snakes or venomous arachnids, but be careful where you put your feet. Wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty shoes.»

I scoffed, without deigning that petty remark of a reply. The pilot gifted me with a parting grin, before leaving me alone with my plasteel ladder.

«I’m gonna start with the landing gear, since it’s blasting hot out here and the hull is less exposed to the sun» he clarified, as he crawled under the underbelly of our battered freighter. The explanation was quite unnecessary, since I would have been hard pressed to distinguish one end of the cargo from the other, but I was starting to think that he just liked to hear the sound of human voices. I would have thought that a Starfleet pilot would grow used to the silence, if not exactly fond, but there was nothing that made sense about that particular specimen.

We spoke very little, during the following two hours. The pilot was utterly focused on his work, and I tried to bother him as little as possible. I realised early on how utterly useless I was, standing there as straight as a lightening rod as I sweltered in my elegant ambassadorial robe, so I just went to sit on the ramp, taking some respite from whatever shade I managed to get. I felt silly, and childish, as I looked at him crawling back and forth to get pieces of equipment or spare parts that I wouldn’t have been able to recognise even if he had described them to me, but whenever  he caught my slightly abashed eye, the pilot would just smile encouragingly at me, and go back to work without saying a word.

Since I could do nothing else, I resolved to keep the keenest guard that had ever been kept, and I sat watching almost unblinkingly for any and every dangerous animal that could come our way, holding onto the ladder for dear life.

I was relieved, when the pilot asked me a little guardedly if I could fetch him some water. I had little difficulty in locating the tiny kitchenette that had been bestowed upon our small cargo -it was nothing more than a hole in the plasteel walls of the ship, with barely enough space for a table and some chairs-, and I was quickly out again with a glass full of recycled water. That, at least, was something I could do.

The sun settled slowly, as the afternoon dwindled by. Aside a few lithe herbivores and a small jumping little thing that looked like a hairy hare, our presence in that corner of the grassland seemed to have spooked any less courageous life form. I looked up, to break the monotony of the endless savannah, and I spotted three blue moons hovering just above the flat horizon, barely lighter than the indigo sky.

Once the pilot was done with the hull, declaring that the landing gear was in ‘perfect working order’, the melting heath of the afternoon had already waned to a more bearable warmth. The pilot’s dark hair was plastered to his forehead, as he came out crawling from the cargo’s underbelly, and sweat and grass and soil were staining his shirt. There was a dark spot of grease on one of his cheekbones, and I almost wiped it out with my thumb as he passed me by, heading towards the front of the ship.

The cargo’s battered snout was plastered against a tree, but it looked like it had been the tree to lose the battle. The impact had almost uprooted it, and it was arched back to an impossible angle. On the other hand, the plasteel of the bow, as the pilot had helpfully labelled it, looked dented, almost torn from its pegs in places, but mostly intact.

I helped him straighten the ladder, and held it steady as he climbed up to the bruised bow. The cargo trousers he was wearing were tight enough that I could see the muscles bulging in his thighs, and I almost lost my grip on the ladder as I realised that my eyes were lingering on the firm curve of his buttocks. It was not the time, it was not the place, and it was surely not the person, I reminded myself. I had better control than that, and he was a _pilot_ , a category I considered beyond contempt.

«I’m gonna start welding those loose panels - he warned me, looking down from the top of the ladder - You’d better look away. Wouldn’t want any shrapnel to get into those pretty eyes of yours.»

I wondered if he had caught my gaze, and I blushed slightly at the thought, as I looked straight ahead. He had been smirking as he said that, but he always looked as if something terribly funny was going on, so that wasn’t particularly helpful.

I shook my head slightly, as I banned those silly thoughts from my mind. I was being ridiculous, and I had better things to look out for than the way his dark trousers squeezed his arse. Without taking my hands from the ladder, I turned slightly, so that I would give my back to the tree and keep watching out for danger. The whirring sounds of the blowtorch coming from above helped a great deal to anchor me to the present, to an unpleasant situation that I was keen to bring to an end as soon as possible. I didn’t have the luxury to let my mind wander.

The sun was about to set when the pilot finally decided that the cargo was as ready to fly as it would ever be, if we managed to get our hands on a working injector. I kept my eyes resolutely diverted as he clambered down the ladder, and if he saw anything out of the ordinary on my face, he didn’t say anything about it. He just folded the ladder and headed back to the ship, leaving me to follow behind.

When we were both onboard again, he raised the ramp, sealing out the last sliver of dark blue sky. The fresh, sweet-smelling evening air was also shut outside, and I did my best not to wince when the sterile recycled air of the cargo reached my nose. The only positive note was that the carefully maintained ship microclimate was quickly replacing the humid warmth of the planet-side atmosphere.

«If I was hungry before, working in the sun got me starving» the pilot declared cheerfully, as he disappeared in one of the corridors to put ladder and toolbox away. «What about you? Are you hungry?»

Our near-death experience had done wonders to kill whatever hunger I might have felt, but now that the pilot had reminded me of my stomach, I realised that I could have devoured a Wookie.

«I could eat» I replied, as my hunger battled with the pressing need of a shower, or whatever passed for a shower in that blasted ship. Predictably, my deep-seated dislike for untidiness and dirt eventually won even over an empty stomach. «But I think I would rather clean up first.»

The pilot blinked, as though the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind, before rubbing his palm over his forehead and looking at the dark spot of grease and sweat and dirt matting the tanned skin.

«I haven’t thought about that» he admitted, with a slightly chagrined, self-deprecating little smile, rubbing his dirty palm against his trousers. «I guess I might not be the best dining companion, right now.»

I quirked my head, scavenging for a polite reply amongst my pretty diplomatic lies. The pilot was filthy, and there was no way to convey gently that concept.

«Would one hour be enough?» I asked carefully, side-stepping the problem.

The pilot shrugged.

«Ten minutes would be enough, but don’t worry. I’ll keep myself busy.»

I was not about to take the bait. That day had already been spiralling more than I deemed acceptable–I had no intentions of rushing my routine and sitting down for dinner until I regained at least a modicum of control. If the pilot was really that hungry, he would just have to start without me. I wouldn’t mind.

«You do not have to wait for me» I said, but the pilot just shrugged.

«It’s fine. I hope you like ship rations and filtered water, though.»

I liked them pretty much as I liked flying, which meant nothing at all. I tried to wipe any possible expression off my face, but the pilot, once again, managed to read right through me.

«Didn’t think so» he replied, with a sly grin that felt overly familiar. «I could kill something with my blaster, if you want, but I can’t vouch for my cooking skills.»

I shook my head, irritated at myself. I was getting unforgivably sloppy.

«There is no need. I will eat what you eat.»

The smirk on the pilot’s face spoke volumes about what he thought of my condescending tone. But once again, where someone else would have looked piqued at best, and offended at worst, he simply looked amused.

«See you in an hour, then. I’ll be in the kitchen.»

«Very well» I replied, turning on my heels and taking refuge into my room.

I felt strangely calmer, when the plasteel door closed behind me. The effort of pretending, of blotting out any emotion from my face, had never seemed so difficult before. It was a constant, wearing strain, and I didn’t know if it was the situation, the near-death experience or the pilot, but my walls felt intolerably thin, as though everything I was thinking could just bleed through the moment my focus wavered. I needed to get a better grip on myself. That kind of behaviour would make neither Lady Lilandra nor my father proud.

The room, at least, seemed less oppressive. I didn’t know if I was getting used to it or if it was the knowledge that we were solidly planted on the ground -a little _too_ solidly, even- that improved so much my current living conditions, but I was relieved.

The feeling lasted right up to the moment I got undressed in front of the embarrassingly tiny mirror that had been bestowed upon that minuscule refresher, and my eyes clung to the purple bruise that was blooming along my collarbone, fading out into a reddish rash just above my sternum and across my left breast. I dug a finger into the angry-looking patch of skin, leaving a white imprint as it throbbed under pressure. It had to be where the seatbelt had burrowed into my flesh during our unfortunate landing, but since I hadn’t felt any pain so far, the splash of colour had caught me off-guard. It felt strange to watch, intolerably intimate–as though that experience had marked me somehow, sinking so deeply into my skin that it would take me tooth and nail to dig it out. The thought of being so strongly affected by something I had not wanted or predicted was unbearable. I clenched my teeth, as I turned my back to that detestable image and stepped into the nearby cubicle.

The sonic shower left me as unsatisfied as it usually did, if cleaner and less tacky. I knew how irrational that thought was–sonic waves were supposed to remove dirt down to molecular level, giving a much better result than a traditional, planet-side water shower, but it always felt insufficient to me. I liked the feeling of water sloshing down my body, the sensual pleasure of being caressed in that intimate, delicate way, but even more the sensation of utter, deep _cleanliness_ that came with it. A sonic shower would perhaps cleanse my skin, but when I stepped out of it, I felt exactly the same as I had stepped in–as though something was still clinging to me, a smell that I couldn’t identify, even if my rational mind knew that there was no smell of any kind. But maybe that was the point. The water had a scent to it -something fresh, relaxing- that sonic waves just didn’t.

Maybe that was what I missed. The smell of water over wet skin.

Since I had never been stranded on a planet before, I wasn’t sure about the protocol required for dinner with my pilot. No one had ever thought of putting that eventuality down, in my basic training. I shuffled through my crates until I found a relatively simple vest, blue and violet as almost everything I owned–Chandrilan colours, like Father loved to wear. I slipped in a violet long-sleeved dress that covered me from chin to toes, and I bound my breasts into a leather corset, died in bright blue. I envied those women that could just forego corsets, leaving their small breasts free to feel the touch of the velvet and the silk against their nipples, but that was simply not a possibility. My breasts were too full to be trusted not to swing embarrassingly under my robes, and I would feel the strain at the back of my neck if I were to leave them too long without anything to support their weight.

Knowing that I would likely have to fend for myself, I had taken with me only corsets that could be bound from the front. I had little trouble slipping the tiny hooks in their eyelets along my belly and up to my breasts, as thick sky-blue strings criss-crossed and trickled down my back to give the illusion of a more traditional binding.

My hairdo still held, so I had to apply only a minimum amount of make-up to be ready for dinner. I put on a pair of violet slippers and I headed down the corridors.

I had no problem remembering where the kitchenette was, and the pilot wasn’t exactly silent. I heard him whistling and moving about as I was coming out of the lodging sector, and then I only had to follow the sounds.

When I reached the kitchen, I found the pilot so busy laying out plates and cutlery on the table that he didn’t hear me coming, or so I thought. I stood by the door, observing him as he whistled and bustled about. He had cleaned up well enough–his shiny black hair was tumbling in soft curls from the top of his head, and his cheeks had been shaved so closely that the looming beard that threatened to explode at a moment’s notice was nothing more than a barely-there shadow. The same couldn’t be said for his bare forearms, unfortunately, where the distastefully long dark hairs that striped his tanned skin were exposed for the whole word to see by the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt.

«I’m here» I declared, eventually. It didn’t feel right to spy on him, taking advantage of a moment in which he was clearly relaxing and enjoying the solitude. I could understand that very well.

The pilot hummed, without even turning his head. He wasn’t wearing any boots, relying only on thick black socks to shelter his feet from the cold of the ship’s plasteel floors. He seemed to be smiling to himself, and I couldn’t understand him at all.

«I know - he said, making me reconsider any charitable thought I just had - I’ve heard you. All that stuff you wear is about as subtle as a bantha chase.»

I frowned, forcing myself not to shrug and make my thick, heavy earrings tingle again. I hadn’t thought about that.

«May I help you?» I asked, since it was only polite.

The pilot shrugged.

«You don’t know where anything is. I thought you might just stand there and enjoy the view.»

I scoffed. If he thought he was being charming, he truly had to reconsider his technique.

«I would rather enjoy my dinner - I bit back - So please, tell me if there is anything I can do to expedite its delivery.»

He smirked, as he turned towards me.

«Such a fancy way to speak. But you ain’t that polished, underneath.»

I stared at him with my best cold eyes.

«I don’t know what you mean.»

«I’ve seen sheltered. You ain’t that. You’re polite. Well-bred, of course. But not sheltered. Not naïve.»

«I have never claimed to be any of that» I replied, guarded and almost offended. I didn’t know why, but the idea that he could have thought me naïve felt particularly grating.

I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, I wouldn’t have even recognized it, but I was actually much more sheltered that he was giving me credit for.

«You take pride in the way you behave, in the way you speak. You take pride in your training.» His gaze was piercing, eyes almost black in the soft lights of the kitchen. «You take pride in what you can make other people think of you.»

I could deny it all, of course, but there was really no point. That was his opinion, and he wouldn’t so easily be swerved from it. The fact that it was the truth, of course, didn’t make the issue any simpler to resolve. Not that the truth really mattered, but still.

«What of it?» I asked instead. «What is that to you?»

«I told you. I’m supposed to find out if I’m bringing a traitor to our headquarters.»

«And I still fail to grasp how telling me that would help you in any way.»

The pilot grinned at me.

«Maybe that’s exactly my strategy. Please, sit. I’ll get the food.»

I chose not to reply. He had changed the topic, after all. And I was hungry.

The food was the usual yellowish blend of synthetic protein cubes. It was what I had expected, given the old, small, cheap freighter I was travelling upon, but it was still an unappetising view. Carbohydrates and vitamins were floating in the colourless, flavourless drink that the pilot had placed in front of me, carefully mixed with the filtered water I needed to keep myself hydrated.

I painted a blank expression all over my face, as I joylessly started to eat.

«I got a reply» the pilot declared, after a short silence. My ears pricked up at that. «From the Resistance source.»

«Who are they? Do they have what we need?»

The pilot picked at a protein cube with his fork. He had somehow slicked his hair back into some semblance of order, but the more he moved, the more black curls tumbled down on his tanned forehead, brushing his thick dark eyebrows.

«It’s a Resistance operative. He works in one of the First Order’s local mining towns. We’re lucky, it ain’t very far.» He speared a cube and lifted it to his face, observing it with thoughtful, far-away eyes. «He has a working injector. Or, at least, he knows where to find one.»

«He is a Resistance spy» I extrapolated, trying to hide my contempt. I respected the craft, of course -fooling an entire population at large required not indifferent skills-, but I despised the somewhat romantic undertone that pervaded the whole business. I had never cared for sentimentalism.

I laid down my fork, frown rippling through my forehead. There had been something, in the pilot’s tone, that kept nagging at me.

«Is there a problem?» I asked.

The pilot glanced up, before shoving the protein cube in his mouth and shaking his head.

«It’s an old Resistance source - he elaborated, luckily after he had chewed and swallowed his food - We have a few of them, hiding in the most peripheral planets in Republic territory. They keep an eye on the borders, and let us know if the First Order is poking its nose where it doesn’t belong.»

«That sounds awfully legal, so far» I remarked, arching a brow.

The pilot snorted at my tone, and quirked up his lips in a slanted grin.

«These are the legal ones, yes - he replied, with a little shrug - We have others. We ain’t exactly advertising those, but we have some operatives hidden deep in First Order territory. Communications are difficult, living conditions are terrible, and they risk their life daily to keep us informed, so they’re very few and far between.»

«We are truly lucky, then» I replied, as my frown deepened. I failed to see the problem.

The pilot hummed thoughtfully, behind closed lips.

«That’s one way to see it. The other way… is not as pleasant.»

It took me a while to understand his meaning.

«Are you talking about a _trap_?» I blurted, in a tone so blatantly disbelieving that the pilot just sighed in obvious exasperation. As though I was supposed to believe his crazy theories without questions–as though the idea that someone could go to such lengths to capture us, to capture _me_ , was anything short of ludicrous. Why would anyone even care?

«Yes, of course I’m talking about a trap - the pilot answered - That’s what the First Order _does_. No one knows we’re here. We’re too far away to communicate with the Republic, and there are no friendly systems nearby that could forward our messages. We’re isolated. We’re alone. The Order could kidnap us without breaking any law. No one would be the wiser.» He stared at my uncomprehending eyes, and shook his head. «If they catch us, they’ll break us. They’ll crush our skulls to get everything we know, and then throw away the rest.»

It was so absurd. I didn’t know anything that wasn’t public knowledge. I was barely more than a student.

But the pilot wasn’t.

The thought hit me like a slap in the face. He was Resistance. He knew all their secrets. He knew where the Resistance Headquarters were. If what he said was true, if the picture he had painted was reliable, then he would be invaluable to the First Order.

If I was in any danger at all, I realised, it was his fault.

«What are we going to do, then?» I asked, trying to squash down the anger. There was no point in resenting any of it. I had known the risks, when I accepted the mission. Of course, I hadn’t predicted crashing onto an unwelcoming planet, nor active threats to my life.

«The code is old, but still active - replied the pilot - Operatives aren’t my division, so I’ve got no idea where they are, or who they’re supposed to be. I’ve tried to send a message to the closest friendly system, but it’s too far off. I can’t say when or if they’ll receive it. I simply have no way to communicate with the Resistance.» He shrugged, going back to poking at protein cubes with his fork. «I don’t know if this guy is bait or the real thing.»

«Why are you telling me all of this? - I asked, as I tried to pry answers from his face - Now I know more about the Resistance than I did ten minutes ago. More information I could provide to the First Order.»

The pilot returned my searching gaze, lips slightly downturned as he stared straight at my face.

«Are you going to?»

I shook my head.

«No. What would be the point of that? I am here to help you.» I paused, thinking carefully about my next words. «But I _could_. You didn’t have to tell me anything more than what you already had–that you had a contact and that you could get us what we need.»

I didn’t expect his answer, or the little frown hatched between his brows, as though it was so painfully obvious he didn’t know why I was asking.

«We’re in this together. You deserve to know what I know. It’s your decision to make, too.»

«It doesn’t look like much of a decision, to me - I remarked - We need that injector. Without it, we are stranded here. We could wait for someone to answer our distress calls, but if what you say is true, and the First Order is monitoring this sector, we would take an awful risk in any case.»

«There is an alternative - the pilot interjected - I could go on my own into a mining town. Look for a working injector.»

That didn’t seem a very wise alternative. I shook my head.

«You know nothing about this place. It would be just as dangerous as meeting up with your source. If you suspect a trap, at least, you will know what to look for.» I stopped dead in my tracks, as the pilot’s words truly came into focus. «Wait. What do you mean with _on_ _your own_?»

The pilot quirked an eyebrow.

«Well, who else’s gonna do it?» he asked, as though the idea that _I_ could had never even crossed his mind. We were in that together only to a point, apparently.

«You are _not_ doing it alone. I am coming with you.»

The pilot stared at me as though I had just sprouted a second head.

«That’s absurd. It ain’t like holding a ladder in the woods, you know. It’s gonna be dangerous. Very dangerous. You don’t even know which side of a blaster you’re supposed to hold.»

«I actually know that» I replied, trying to hold in a scoff. It was more assuming than knowing, but I saw no reason to share that detail. «And I won’t need to. We are supposed to be discreet, meet with your source and leave. No blasting required.»

« _If_ it’s not a trap. _If_ everything goes smoothly. _If_ we don’t meet any First Order’s goon. That’s a whole bunch of _ifs_.»

«You are _not_ leaving me here - I declared, staring him down - I am not going to wait for you to come back, without knowing if you _are_ coming back, or if someone else is coming in your place to kill me off like a shadowmoth.»

«And you think that coming with me right in the middle of a First Order’s mining town’s gonna be _safer_?» the pilot exploded, exasperated and incredulous, as thought he couldn’t believe the madness he was forced to endure.

I scoffed at his tone, and pointed a finger at him.

«You would abandon me here, alone, without weapons, without any means of escape, on a broken transport that looks like a neon sign from any direction, and think of me as _safe_? I am not going to stay here as a sitting bulabird. Where you go, I go. And that is all there is to say on the matter.»

The pilot pushed out another of his long-suffering sighs.

«Listen, Ambassador…» he started, but I blocked him with a raised hand before he could go on any further.

«I am not an ambassador» I corrected him. I hated interrupting people when they were speaking -it was horribly impolite of me-, but I had no intention to exploit a position that was not mine yet.

The pilot shot me a quizzical look.

«You’re not?»

«I am about to start my training with Lady Lilandra - I explained, as I folded my hands back in my lap - I _will_ be, but I haven’t earned that title, yet.»

There was a strange little smile on the pilot’s face, as he openly stared, studying me as though I was some sort of riddle he couldn’t quite make out. I understood the feeling, but I didn’t really get the delight.

«What should I call you, then?»

I thought about it, carefully sifting through my options. We were about to go on a mission, after all. I didn’t have many alternatives.

«You can’t very well call me Miss, it’s not exactly inconspicuous» I eventually replied, crossing out even the lightest and most common title I could think off. A mining town didn’t seem a place for titles of any kind. I had only one option left, as much as I loathed it. «You may call me Helana.»

I tried to keep all the distaste out of my voice, off of my face. I hated the idea of having this man, this _pilot_ , being so familiar with me, but I had no alternatives. I couldn’t use another name, with the risk of not recognizing it at a crucial moment. My own name would have to do.

Whatever I was thinking, the pilot didn’t seem to register it at all. His face opened up in a pleased grin, and his brown eyes were twinkling in the artificial lights of the kitchen.

«Helana» he said–slowly, as though he was trying out the sound of my name on his tongue, as though he was _tasting_ it. It felt strange, and jarringly intimate. My hands were clasped so tight, hidden as they were in my lap, that they almost hurt. «Alright. Helana.»

Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than that conversation to end.

I stared with distaste at the few protein cubes left laying on my plate. I wasn’t hungry anymore. The mere sight of those flavourless chewy things made me nauseous, but I had been brought up too well to waste food. And it would have been insulting, after the pilot had gone through the trouble to prepare it for me, as little as that trouble had been.

«What time are we going to leave, tomorrow?» I asked, trying to divert myself as I picked at the cubes.

The pilot thought about it, seemingly unaware of anything going on in my mind.

«The rotation period of this planet is twenty hours, so I’ve calibrated the ship’s time system on that. Our contact’s sent me a map of this region, a map of the mining town and coordinates for our rendezvous. I’m supposed to be there by midday. I calculated the route, and I thought about leaving by eight.»

I nodded. I finished my last protein cube, and drained whatever was left of the water.

«Forgive me, Commander…» I said, as I slowly rose on my feet. The pilot threw me a strange look.

«Poe. I don’t know who this Commander guy’s supposed to be.»

«Yes, of course - I replied tiredly - Poe.» The name tasted like ashes in my mouth. I couldn’t bear for him to be anything but _the pilot_ , anonymous and easily forgotten. If the blasted ship had done its duty, I would have already been at the Resistance Headquarters, and we would have already gone our separate ways. Instead, he was clinging to me like a leech. «Forgive me, but I think this day has taken a lot out of me. I would rather retire early, if you don’t mind.»

«Of course» the pilot replied. His gaze, however, lingered. «I guess there’s no way I can convince you to stay here, tomorrow.»

I scoffed. I wasn’t _that_ defeated, yet. I stared coldly at him.

«If you leave without me, I will shoot you myself.»

I don’t know what I had expected, but the only reply I got, of course, was a delighted laugh. The pilot pushed back his chair, running a hand through his hair. I guessed he was trying to push it back into some semblance of order, but he only made it angrier, black curls tumbling everywhere.

«I hope you got something a little more unassuming than that, in your crates» he remarked, with a little nod of his chin in my general direction.

I reflexively looked down at myself.

«What’s wrong with my clothes?» I asked, confused and somewhat irritated. I had chosen that outfit exactly _because_ it seemed plain enough to me. It was something I could have worn at home, or in my student lodgings on Coruscant. It was almost indecent.

The pilot’s eyebrows did something complicated on his face, and I realised that he was trying to hold in a laugh.

«You look like a rich woman - he replied, so blatantly amused that it was almost insulting - Even worse, you look like a politician. You’d stand out like a sore thumb in a mining town.»

I kept hearing judgments, but not one solution was thrown my way. I had shoes more helpful than that.

«What do you have in mind?» I asked, trying to keep my irritation at a minimum. Not an easy task, as tired and rattled as I was.

The pilot stared at me up and down, in a way that felt awfully intimate. I wouldn’t have allowed that kind of familiarity from anyone, in another situation, even less from a pilot. I chose to ignore that nagging part of my mind that reminded me of how _I_ had looked at him before, without even the benefit of attenuating circumstances.

«Don’t you have anything less… colourful? Pants and a shirt, maybe?»

I tried and failed to keep the distaste from my voice, as I forced myself to reply.

«I do not wear… _trousers_.»

The pilot rolled his eyes, and I barely refrained myself from protesting at the rudeness of the gesture. It was completely uncalled for.

«Of course you don’t» he sighed, before shaking his head and rising on his feet. «C’mon. Follow me. I’ll see what I can do.»

That did not reassure me in the slightest.

«What do you mean, _what you can do_?» I repeated, following his example as he cleared his side of the table and put empty plate, cutlery and glass in the sonic cleaner.

«What I can lend you. You can’t go out dressed like _that_ , the First Order would shoot you the moment you set foot in town» the pilot clarified, as he preceded me through the empty corridors of the freighter.

Horror hit me like a landslide.

«What, as though dressing like _you_ would be an improvement?!» I snapped, too appalled at the prospect of that indignity to maintain even a semblance of calm. Not only I wouldn’t be caught dead in those things, but wearing _his_ clothes? On top of everything else?

«What’s wrong with my clothes?» he asked, and the fact that he used the same words, and almost the same tone I had chosen before, would have been hilarious, in another circumstance. Now, it just added another hue of tragic to the whole predicament.

«I am not going to answer to _that_ \- I scoffed, ignoring his somewhat offended expression, as he stopped in the middle of the corridor - I am not touching _that_ with a ten metres pole.»

«It’s still more inconspicuous than whatever you’re wearing» he rebutted, pressing his thumb on a plaque in the wall and marching straight into what I suddenly realised, with utter dismay, was his room. «Come on in - he said, as though an invitation could be enough to squash my horror - I assure you that my tasteless crap won’t try to bite you.»

«Are you sure? - I asked, as I carefully picked my way in - How do you even know what is hiding in here?»

The pilot snorted, and that was the only answer I got to my extremely reasonable concern. He ignored the boots lying on the floor, the clothes thrown on the small table, the plasteel bits and pieces of whatever it was he was trying to build on the bed, and went straight for the small metallic chest pushed against the wall. I kept a vigilant eye on the chaos surrounding me, as the pilot rummaged through what at a distance looked like cloth, in the not so unlikely event that whatever was lurking under those scattered debris of his life could jump on me when I least expect it.

I couldn’t keep the horror from my face, as he emerged from the chest with a pile of brown scraps.

«These are a little tight on me, so they should fit you well enough. Just roll up the sleeves of the shirt and the legs of the pants.» He threw another thoughtful glance at me. «Can’t do anything for your feet. Don’t think my boots would fit you.»

I couldn’t even find the mental strength to scoff. I just went on staring, as he thrust that dreadful brown pile in my direction.

«Well?» he asked, when I made no move to take it. He had both his eyebrows so high on his forehead that they were almost blotted by the black curls tumbling over it.

«I am not going to wear _that_ » I replied, stepping back from his proffered hand.

The pilot merely shrugged.

«You ain’t coming, then.» He didn’t even let me protest, just carrying on as though he couldn’t care less about anything coming out of my mouth. «I ain’t letting the First Order capture you the minute you climb down the speeder. I know this isn’t a concept you’re familiar with, but you’re either blending in, or you’re staying here.»

«I…» I tried, but the pilot just stared me down with a tenacious glare.

«I ain’t budging on this.»

I searched on his face for a breach I could exploit, but I found none. He was telling the truth.

I huffed my displeasure, as I capitulated and reached for the brown horror the pilot was still holding up for me.

«Very well. I will try them on.»

The pilot’s smirk was intolerable. I did my best to ignore it.

«Good. Refresher’s that way» he replied, nodding towards a closed door on the other side of the room.

I shot him an incredulous look.

«Are you telling me I should get changed in _here_?» I spit out, as the pilot’s smirk just grew two sizes.

«Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna barge on you. You’re perfectly safe.»

I scoffed at his nerve.

«I am not worried about _that_ , I am worried about whatever horror may lurk in that thing!»

The pilot snickered, as though I was being incredibly funny. There was nothing even remotely funny in the entire situation, and I made sure my face told him exactly that.

«I assure you that my refresher’s perfectly up to civilized standards. But if you don’t trust me…»

«I do not trust what you consider _civilized standards_ , but very well - I frostily replied, as I picked my way to the refresher - I have no idea what is waiting for me in that town, tomorrow. I had better get used to any possible indignity.»

«Thank you so much for coming, I’d miss your company so terribly were I to go alone» the pilot quipped at my back, with such a low and embarrassing form of humour that it wasn’t even worth of a reply.

The clothes, as the door whooshed closed behind me, revealed themselves to be some loose cargo pants and a shirt, both dyed in an abysmal shade of dark brown. I could only hope they had been washed recently, and after the pilot had last worn them. The idea that those were his clothes, and that at some point they had touched his naked body, was horrifying enough even without actually having to smell him on them. I could feel my skin crawl at the bare thought, as the need for a shower, a real shower, in a real bathroom, became almost unbearable.

Gathering whatever was left of my courage, I loosened up my corset and looked around for a place in which I could safely store it, as I tried on the pilot’s clothes. The refresh looked reasonably tidy, at least at a cursory glance, but that didn’t mean that I could trust whatever passed for clean in there. I eventually resolved to hang the corset on a peg in the wall, and my dress quickly followed.

The pilot’s clothes, when I slipped into them, seemed clean enough. They had no smell I could detect, and the cloth felt worn but soft against my naked skin. The pants hung loosely down my legs, if somewhat tighter around my hips, while the shirt was thankfully large enough that my breasts wouldn’t strain the fabric. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, and the trousers’ legs just enough not to trip into the hems. I was reasonably sure I had at least a pair of boots that I could use, packed somewhere in my crates.

There was a little mirror above the sink, and I stared at the dismayed look etched over my face with tragic understanding. Still, if the pilot had the strength to wear those things day after day, I could certainly be no less.

The pilot was sitting on the bed as I came out, tinkering with whatever it was he kept strewn over the coverlet. He quirked an eyebrow, as he took me in.

«Well?» I snapped. Seeing him wearing clothes so similar to mine reminded me unpleasantly that the same cloth now touching my skin had been just as close to the pilot, at some point in the past. I could feel the slightly rough texture of the shirt rub against my nipples. «Do I look unassuming enough now?»

The pilot snorted, settling his trinkets back on the bed. I caught him stealing a handful of quick glances up and down my frame, which he clearly thought he was being subtle about.

«I don’t think you could look _unassuming_ even if your life depended on it - he snickered, turning towards me just enough to rest his elbows on his thighs - Which it does, by the way. But close enough.»

«Don’t be so kind, I could get used to it» I grumbled, as I went back to the refresher to collect my clothes.

When I came out, the pilot was standing by the door.

«Eight o’clock, tomorrow morning. Sharp. Don’t be late» he warned me, as I walked up to him.

«I will have you know that I have never been late once in my whole life!» I replied, offended by the mere suggestion.

The pilot laughed again, low and warm, and for a moment he was so close, squeezed as I was between his body and the door frame, that the proximity grew unbearable. I could feel the heath coming from his skin, and his eyes looked as dark as open space as he stared down at me. I could see the shadow of a stubble on his chin, the curling of his unruly locks over his forehead, the sideburns framing his cheeks. I could see the thin lines etched in the corners of his eyes–the same lines Father had, from crinkling them up so often in laughter.

I was so close that I could smell his skin.

I couldn’t even fathom what my face was showing, right then and there. But I was too close, I was wearing his clothes, and he was a blasted pilot.

«Your clothes do not suit me» I declared, lifting my chin to kill whatever madness was still lurking in my mind, and peeking out my face.

The pilot straightened up abruptly, at the sharp lash of my voice. In a sudden jolt of panic, I realised that he had been leaning very subtly towards me–and, from the startled look on his face, we had shared exactly the same epiphany, and exactly at the same moment.

«Yeah - he agreed, blinking quickly, as though he as well was trying to dispel some sort of confusion from his clouded mind - They really don’t.»

Establishing that simple fact, somehow, made me feel much better.

Clutching at my clothes as if my life depended on it, I kept an easy gate until I reached my room, trying neither to linger nor to run. I felt pathetically proud of myself, when the door whooshed closed behind me, for not having glanced back even once.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adventures!!

Sleep didn’t come easily, that night. I had never had to spend the night on a ship, and I wasn’t used to the small, hard bed, to the buzzing of electricity steadily humming straight in my ears, to the soft artificial glow of the lights, or to the absolute darkness once they were gone. I was used to cicadas singing in the late evening, to moonbeams subtly slithering through my curtains, or to the sunshine battering over my bed. Even the barren Galactic City was never truly silent, never truly asleep–neon lights would take over the sunrays, and not even the transparisteel windows could blot out completely the whirring of speeders and taxis whooshing by.

The freighter’s room was either too dark or too bright, claustrophobically small, and I could smell plasteel and electric discharges in the recycled air every time I was about to feel asleep, like the taste of thunder in high atmosphere. It felt jarring, disquieting in a way that dragged me back to a begrudging alertness, never truly awake, but never truly asleep.

I had barely managed to snatch a few hours of troubled sleep when the alarm programmed in my pad blared to life. I reached out for the pad and tiredly turned it off, before laying it on the mattress and curling up around it.

It took me ten more minutes to drag myself out of bed. If I hadn’t just crashed on some hostile planet and trudged through the most uncomfortable night of my life, I would have chastised myself soundly for that lack of discipline. As it was, being able to crawl to the bathroom felt like an epic victory.

When I looked at my bleary face into the mirror, I thought forlornly that no one would ever mistake me for a politician, in those conditions. I could only be thankful that the time difference between that sad lonely planet and Chandrila was minimal, or I would have had to pile space lag on top of the wonderful feeling of utter, bone-deep weariness that that delightful trip had seen fit to bestow upon me.

A sonic shower did not resolve the problem, but at least improved the situation. I had taken another shower the night before–I could not bear to go to sleep knowing that the pilot’s clothes had been all over my body. The idea of being forced to slip into them yet again made my skin crawl, but I had little choice in the matter.

With a resigned sight, I went for my crates to collect the proper underwear. Socks and panties were easy to choose, but the problem, of course, came with the corset. I couldn’t let my breasts hang free, but most of my corsets had been purposefully designed to be worn over clothes–they were thick and hard and beautifully decorated, but cumbersome under a shirt. Not every dress I owned was supposed to be fit under one, of course–which was why I had packed a smaller number of slim, unassuming corsets made to be hidden, as supple and snug as a second skin. But as thin as they were, they still felt uncomfortable under the pilot’s loose shirt and ill-fitting pants.

Since I had to give up on corsets entirely, I turned to my last alternative–bindings. Hora was nothing less than thorough, and although my chances to wear those under a dress were exceedingly slim, since I thoroughly disliked them, she had packed them anyway. I found the long, soft white cloth at the bottom of one of the biggest crates, and I gingerly took it out.

Once I had the bindings wound tight around my chests and the underwear in place, I fought my distaste and slipped into the pilot’s clothes. The bindings were not as effective as a corset, but they would do in a pinch–the brown shirt hung nicely enough from my narrow shoulders, and although the pants were tight in all the wrong places, and loose in others that did not require so much room, the final result was not excessively offensive. I completed the look with some low-heeled black leather boots that I normally used for riding, when such a social activity was required, and I bound my long hair in a tight bun. I had let my hair loose the night before, and I had cleaned them thoroughly under the sonic shower that morning, but there was no hope to manage alone the complex sets of braids that Hora could so deftly weave together–not in the little time I was allotted. I spent few precious minutes to select the minimum amount of make-up I deemed necessary for me to be seen in public, and I finally emerged from my room, just as a bleary-eyed pilot sleepily stumbled out of his own.

«’morning» he grumbled, scratching the top of his head and displacing even more his already angry-looking black hair. «You look scarily put together. Did you even sleep?»

I had half a mind to complain for my terrible lodging situation, but I saw no point in showing a weak spot only for the sake of being petty.

«Of course I did. Wonderfully» I replied, taking the lead and preceding him to the kitchenette.

With the minimal amount of conversation required, we put together a functional breakfast, if not a tasty one. We sat at the small table to drink tasteless enriched water and eat a chunky gruel, died blue by the fatty, cheap-to-buy and easy-to-store bantha milk. After two full cups of stimcaf, the pilot looked finally alive enough to drive a speeder without crashing it against the first lonely tree that horrible grassland would yield. It would match nicely our freighter, that after mowing down a small forest had happily smashed its muzzle against a tree, but I had had enough crashes for a lifetime–I didn’t need to experience another one.

«Have you taken everything you need?» the pilot asked, as he slipped a blaster in the back of his trousers and hid it under the hem of his shirt.

I opened my arms, giving myself a cursory glance.

«What could I possibly need? I have my credits with me, but I doubt that anything else I own would be of any help where we are going.»

The pilot followed my glance, giving me a quick once-over that I barely caught with the corner of my eye.

«I meant… never mind» he sighed, shaking his head and motioning for me to walk down the ramp. «Wait outside. I’m getting the speeder.»

The warmth of the day was already creeping in when I stepped out of the freighter, but the air was fragrant and the sunshine bright and lovely. It was so different from the recycled air and the artificial lights of the freighter, that for an instant I could do nothing but close my eyes and breathe the planet in. I was thankful for that single moment of solitude–I didn’t much care to explain my feelings to the pilot, or for him to shoot at me one of his curious, piercing glances.

I did my outmost to refrain from quirking my eyebrows, when he dragged out the saddest, oldest speeder I had ever seen. It was a thick, ungainly thing, entirely too huge for the two small seats. It was dyed a sickly yellowish hue, scratched and peeled in places, and charred around the engine. I didn’t even want to know.

«I’ve already uploaded the coordinates and the map on the speeder’s system» the pilot cheerfully filled me in, as he pushed a pair of dark goggles over his eyes. His black hair stuck up in every direction around the elastic band. «Here, wear these and hop on.»

I took the goggles he was handing me somewhat gingerly–they had clearly seen better days, and the dark glass was scratched and spotted with greyish dust. I had no choice but to bow yet again to the absurd requests of that insufferable pilot, if I didn’t want to get dirt and dust and who knew what else in my eyes, but I refused to use the hem of my shirt to wipe them down. Indifferent to the pilot’s exasperated groan, I marched back to the kitchen and used a piece of cloth to give the goggles some resemblance of cleanness, before throwing the unfortunate thing into the compactor–it didn’t deserve to suffer through that ignominy.

When I came out again, holding the goggles with a little less disgust, the pilot was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t be gone far, though, since the speeder was still there.

I found him a little further off the ramp, checking his handiwork on the bow from underneath.

«Is everything alright?» I asked. The pilot answered me with a shrug.

«Just checking. Are you ready to leave?»

There was a smirk in that question.

«Yes. Whenever you are» I replied, with a scowl. The pilot gifted me an actual smirk, before heading back to the hangar door. He pushed some buttons in a panel hidden beside the opening, and the ramp, with a whirring sound, rose up and sealed the freighter shut.

«Is that safe?» I wondered, as I eyed suspiciously our only available mean of transportation. I was still convinced that we could buy another one, if the need arose, but the pilot’s words had sparked some worry into me. Whatever I thought of General Organa and the First Order, no one had ever died of an excess of caution.

The pilot threw a slanted grin at me, as though he could read my thoughts.

«Don’t worry, this ship is sturdier than it looks. Whoever came looking for troubles, would’ve a field day trying to open that hangar without a code.»

«They could have droids.»

«Nah - the pilot laughed, as he vaulted with a strangely elegant leap onboard the speeder - BB8 worked at it for days. The droids would melt their circuits before they managed to get in.»

He offered me a hand, which I stared at in silence. I pushed the somewhat decently clean goggles over my eyes, and the world went dark behind the glasses. I was so obviously taking time that I didn’t even bother to look at the pilot’s face to check for the usual grin.

«BB8?»

«My droid. A BB unit, one of a kind.» The pilot was indeed grinning, when he pushed his hand at me again. But it wasn’t a smirk, not exactly. It was softer. «C’mon. I won’t bite you, I promise.»

The subtle, slighting insinuation that I could be scared of him did the trick. I lifted my chin as high as I could, and I allowed him to grab my hand.

«I am not, in the slightest, scared of _you_ » I declared, feeling his strong fingers wrap around mine. I was telling the truth–I wasn’t _scared_ of him. I disliked the idea of touching him. I wasn’t sure, however, how to convey that feeling in a way that wasn’t mortally insulting, so I didn’t elaborate.

The pilot smiled at me, as though he found me amusing, but at least he seemed to believe me well enough. I would not have him thinking that he could make me _afraid_.

His hand was warm, and strong, and rough. I didn’t need his help to jump on a stupid speeder, but pride had me taking it just because I couldn’t tolerate the misguided conception that anyone could intimidate me, whatever job they had in the galaxy, with or without a blaster stuck in their trousers.

I placed a hand on the free seat for balance and leapt. The pilot let me go as soon as I was settled behind him, but the heath of his body had now moved from that single point of contact to the entire expanse of his back, unpleasantly close to my front. I felt dramatically the absence of my corset, which would have effectively worked as a barrier between his back and my chest. The last thing I wanted was to feel his body pressed against my sensitive, defenceless nipples.

«I know you don’t like me much, but I suggest you hold on tight» the pilot said in a challenging tone, as he bent over to turn on the speeder. The engine fired up to life with a whooshing sound, and the speeder trembled between my thighs. «It’s gonna be a long trip, and I wouldn’t wanna lose a prospective ambassador in the poisonous grass.»

I almost hissed in his ear, as I reluctantly slid my arms around his waist and grabbed two fistfuls of his sky-blue shirt. He wasn’t wearing his leather jacket, so I hadn’t been forced to fish under it to find something to hold onto. I had no intention of touching him any more than what was strictly necessary, even if it meant tumbling down the speeder with bits and pieces of his shirt still clutched in my dead fists.

The shirt turned out to be more than enough to keep me into my seat, as the pilot dashed through the grassland. I had to put some strength into my thighs to keep the distance, but even if the muscles burnt, after a while, it was always better than the alternative–I would have sooner been digested by a rancor than plastered myself all over a pilot’s back. I was already so close that I could feel not only the hard shape of his blaster digging into the soft flesh of my belly, but also the heat of his body, the scent of his skin–it didn’t matter that he smelt clean and sort of nice, he didn’t have to stink like a dead starleg to make the entire situation utterly unpleasant.

The whooshing of the wind and the whirring of the engine, at least, made talking impossible, and the endless grassland made for a nice diversion. The speeder cut through grass as yellow as the sun and almost as tall as myself, and dodged animals of any kind–there had been no plasteel cage falling from the sky there, and the indigenous species had not yet been scared into hiding. I spotted huge black creatures, moving in lumbering steps and towering even over the scattered trees, and lither greenish ones, jumping on all four feet. Colourful birds were roaming the sky above us, together with huge, dark flying beasts, that shouted like dying men as they soared in lazy circles. More hairy hares scuttled away from the speeder, as we rushed by. There was no sign of sentient life, or at least none that I could detect.

Eventually, the boredom of the savannah took away even the little diversion provided by that strange new planet. The journey was never-ending, and I could do nothing to entertain myself but look around and try not to fall off the blasted thing. The pilot seemed utterly concentrated on driving, and he hadn’t even tried to speak over the persistent whistling of the wind. It was blowing so strong that I was glad for the goggles, as dirty as they were, but the fresh breeze was welcome in the rising heath.

There was a strange, alienating sense of unreality to that entire situation. The freighter had felt concrete, and so had the room, and the unpleasantness of ship-side meals, but the rest -the crash, the isolation from anything I had ever known, the supposed danger- felt as impersonal as a hologram. It was as though someone else was living through all that, and I was merely a spectator, trying to grasp notions as alien as physical threats and mortal dangers while left to endure the practical, uncomfortable reality of space travel.

We had crashed our ship well outside Republic borders, but none of it -neither the Unknown Territories, nor the First Order- seemed more real than they had before. They were still names, theoretical concepts that the pilot travelling with me had somehow stuck on an alien sun and yellow grass. Nothing felt real. I clutched the pilot’s shirt tighter, and the cloth bunching up within my fists felt as the only tangible thing in a boundless ocean of abstractions.

I was so lost into my thoughts, after a couple of hours of that monotonous panorama, that I almost started when I realised that we were speeding alongside a huge mountain range. We were so close that I could see the sparse trees hugging the desolate sides of the cresting hills, right before they rose into forbidding peaks. The sun was right above us, but I guessed the savannah would look very gloomy very quickly, when it disappeared behind the mountains. There was snow above us, but we were grazing the ground beneath so low that it barely looked like a dusting of sugar powder glimmering through the clouds.

I was still studying the mountains flanking us when the pilot, without any warning, halted the speeder. I barely refrained from slamming into him, and I levelled a frowning glare at him when he turned around. I had no idea what he could see, behind the goggles, but at least I tried.

«We’re almost there - he said, as though I needed the warning - I don’t know what we’re gonna find. Our operative didn’t get into details, but he said that the Order controls the mining operations, and keeps a close eye on the town. It’s a nice way to say that they’re all slaves.» There was an edge, to the pilot’s voice, I didn’t remember to have heard before. «Troopers are not exactly common, but they’re not unheard of. We need to lay low. Stay close and follow my lead.»

I sniffled at his condescending tone.

«I assure you, I am perfectly acquainted with the concept of  “shut up and do as I say”. I won’t be a nuisance. I will say nothing and do what you do.» My scowl deepened, as the pilot chuckled under his breath. «Have I said something funny?»

«No, it’s just… - he replied, shaking his head - You don’t know me. There are people who wouldn’t advise you to follow my example.»

«Just your orders?» I rebutted, arching a brow. «Interesting.»

«I can see your contempt even with those goggles on. That’s real talent, right there» the pilot deadpanned, but there was the slightest hint of a grin on his face as he turned his back on me. «Hold on. Starting up.»

I barely managed to keep my grasp on his shirt, as the speeder sputtered back to life and jumped forward. I could have sworn he had done it on purpose, but I was not going to stoop so low as to complain about his petty retaliations. I had succeeded in keeping myself aboard the blasted speeder and I had avoided plastering my front all over his back–a victory in itself.

My thighs were aching, by the time we reached the mining town. It didn’t look like much from the outside–a few constructions that seemed surprisingly archaic, made of wood and stone, clinging to the bare side of a steep hill that rose against the menacing backdrop of a gigantic mountain range.

It took me a long while to realise that what I was looking at was an actual city. I had never seen any human cluster that wasn’t sprawled all over at least an entire sector, when not an entire planet, and I didn’t immediately grasp the concept of _town_. The smallest inhabited centre I had ever seen was Father’s summer house, and even that was bigger than that pitiful huddle of dingy hovels. But the pilot was undoubtedly driving towards it, and when I saw people, actual _people_ milling about the shoddy shacks, the realization that _that_ was somehow considered a town hit me like a freighter straight in the face.

As the speeder started to climb the steep side of the hill, and both the buildings and the people came more clearly into focus, I wondered how anyone could live in such conditions. People looked haggard, dirty, barely covered as they were in filthy rags–not that any clothes would feel particularly necessary in that torrid climate, but I could almost make out bare breasts under the frayed shirts, and I saw more naked skin than I cared for. The few children I spotted running about looked just as dirty and underfed as their adult counterparts, with soil and who knew what else clinging to their completely naked skin and knotted hair.

As the pilot followed the trickle of people, I realised that they were coming from what looked like a dark mouth carved into the side of the mountain–a deep, steep cave, almost completely hidden behind hovels and run-down buildings.

For a second, the temptation to stop him felt as overwhelming and irresistible as a landslide. I didn’t want to go in there. I couldn’t. That was new, and horrid, and I couldn’t understand how people lived in those conditions–how a Republic that was so rich and prosperous and brand new could let anyone endure that kind of situation. The holos I had seen, the reports–none of them had prepared me for that. For the brutal reality of those people’s life, for the poverty and the dirt and the danger that was subtly radiating from each and every one of them, even from the children, as a counterpoint to the misery and the weariness they were projecting like a chorus of screams.

I didn’t know anything, I couldn’t understand anything, but of something I was sure of: I did not want to see more. I wanted to leave, to crawl back to my old, pampered life, hidden in the core of my beloved Republic and only worried about pleasing Lady Lilandra and making Father proud. That was the only life I knew, and I didn’t want to know anything else. I wanted to be blind, and happy, and unconcerned with anything that was not myself.

For a moment, as I teetered on the edge of the precipice, I hated the pilot more than I had hated anyone else in my life. And since I had disliked many things in my life, but hated only one, it felt disquietingly strange hating him more than I had ever hated my mother.

All of that, _everything_ that had happened to me since I left Chandrila, was his fault. He had brought me exactly where I was. And now, he was dragging me even lower, even deeper, when my mind was screaming _no more_. I didn’t care that he had tried to dissuade me from coming, that he had tried to shelter me. That he had tried, in his own clumsy way, to protect me.

It was all his fault.

And the only thing I wanted to do, the _only_ one, was to yank at his shirt and tell him just that.

_No more. Take me back._

But I couldn’t. I had wanted to come, I had _insisted_ to come, and now I couldn’t spoil the mission just because I was scared.

The words felt acidic in my mouth, like vomit, as though it had trickled from my brain straight onto my tongue. I was scared, and I wasn’t even scared of anything in particular, anything tangible. I was scared of something that I couldn’t even comprehend, an idea, a notion–I was scared of the concept that there was a great deal in the galaxy that I _didn’t_ know, and that I was just getting started. I was scared of the void, spreading so close to my feet that I felt as though I was staggering on the ridge of the abyss.

I didn’t move, didn’t even dare to breathe, as the pilot drove us straight inside the rocky bowels of the mountain range.


	4. Part IV

The city, I discovered as we delved deeply inside the cave, wasn’t built on the steep side of the mountain–it was built _inside_ of it. What I also discovered, as we were swallowed whole by its stony jaws, was how little I liked the claustrophobic feeling of being surrounded by such an impressive mass of rock. It felt constricting, suffocating–tons of immovable stone pressing from every side, caging us in as effectively as plasteel bars, and hanging above our heads like shadowy death. It was a stifling feeling, difficult to disregard, even as I tried to focus on the details of the cave in the hope of diverting myself enough to forget how little leeway we actually had.

The sunshine coming from outside had barely faded into nothing, that the shoddy hovels and the run-down barracks were replaced by sturdier stone buildings, elegantly carved inside the rock walls and displaying small oval windows and reinforced wood doors. They were built one beside the other, flanking the steep stone corridor that dove down into the bowels of the hill. Bright lamps were hung at intervals along the walls, and softer, glowing lights filtered from the oval windows.

Driving inside the cave was very different than flitting through the savannah. The tunnel was wide enough that our speeder could drift through without being hindered, but the other vehicles and the rumbling crowd that littered every corner made it seem much narrower than it actually was. The pilot had been forced to reduce the pace to an intolerable crawl, and even if that meant that I didn’t have to struggle to maintain my hold and distance anymore, it also meant that I had all the luxury in the world to take in every haggard and filthy face, to etch them into my memory as many nightmares.

Just like the hovels, however, the people seemed different, inside the cave. There were still ragged, run-down individuals - _slaves_ , the pilot had called them-, but amongst them there were all sort of people, better clothed, better fed, from every region of the spectrum–from the less miserable to the wealthy ones, or at least what passed for wealthy in that horrible place. But every single one of them, from the filthiest urchin to the wealthiest passerby, shared the same look–the same subtle hint of danger, the kind of danger bred from desperation.

I had seen something similar only once, in my life. I had been nineteen years old, just at the beginning of my studies at the Royal Academy. I had been dared to visit the lower levels of the Galactic City, and I had been prideful and stubborn enough to accept. I couldn’t suffer the idea of being deemed a coward, so I had taken with me the cocky boys that had issued the challenge and the three of us had delved through the filth and the danger of the Coruscanti underworld. We hadn’t stayed long, we weren’t that stupid. But we had stayed long enough to see, and seen we had–enough to last for a lifetime. It had felt like the most stupid and the most daring thing I had ever done in my life, up until now, but I had the needling suspicion that the pilot would have laughed at me, if I had told him. We had barely descended a couple of levels, after all. Those people had still known what the sun was. But the faces I had seen, down there, were just the same as the ones I was looking at now. Misery and hunger and danger, all wound-up together like a dreary knot, peeking out every bleary eye and every weary grimace. It was horrifying.

I would have died, though, before sharing that with the pilot. I didn’t care that he was the only one I could share anything with, at the moment. I would not show him even the slightest hint of weakness. I had been trained better than that.

What disgusted me the most, was that I _wanted_ to. I felt so lost, so alone in that place, that I wanted to reach out–to _feel_ someone beside me, to close the unbearable distance between myself and anything I had ever known. The crawling pace of the speeder meant that I didn’t need to hold close to the pilot’s body anymore, but the simple fact that I _yearned_ to do just that fostered the most excruciating shame.

I was not a child, I repeated to myself–like a chant, or like a prayer. I would not look for comfort in the nearest person available, as a pet pleading for treats from the first gentle hand stretched in their direction. Not that the pilot was stretching _anything_ in my direction, but he looked like the foolish kind of person that might just offer a helping hand whenever it was needed. I had no intention to prove that theory, though. Not then, and not ever.

At our current pace, the speeder barely tilted, as we turned left into a side corridor and dove deeper inside the hill. The tunnel seemed to go on and on, winding forever in the bowels of the mountain range, and the lamps became few and far between. The steady stream of people that had been littering the main corridor had dwindled down to a trickle, and the lamplights layered a soft, sickly glow on the spare gaunt faces.

After turning a dizzying amount of corners, and drifting  through increasingly disquieting corridors, we finally came to a halt in a dingy, empty alley. The rock-cut houses were smaller than before, reduced in size to fit the lower ceiling, and only thin blades of light were filtering through the barred windows. There was a single lamp to illuminate the way, and the pilot stopped just underneath the softly-lit bowl.

I didn’t trust my voice, but I trusted the silence even less.

«Is this our destination?» I asked, choosing and enunciating every word with painstaking care.

The pilot leaned slightly back, lifting the goggles from his eyes.

«According to the coordinates our operative sent us, yeah» he whispered back, scanning the surroundings. A ragged couple slinked by, sparing us only the slightest of glances, as though we were the least interesting thing they had ever seen. «It’s a dead end.»

There was something, in his voice, that unsettled me.

«And you don’t like it?» I investigated, following his lead and pushing the goggles out of the way. The world seemed immediately brighter, but not as well-lit as I had hoped.

The pilot hummed under his breath. He had pushed the goggles over his forehead, and tufts of black hair were now spiking in every directions. I had been sensible enough to push them down over my chest, and there now they hung–annoyingly, yes, but at least I had kept my hair in a semblance of order.

«I saw people staring. That’s never good» he replied, brows furrowed under the goggles.

I had seen nothing of the sort, but I had no intention of sharing that. There was no point in admitting my ignorance.

«Do you still think it’s a trap?»

«Could be» the pilot mumbled, dark eyes focused and attentive. «Which is why we ain’t getting off this speeder. No matter what. You hear me?»

I wasn’t sure what good would a speeder be if he got killed by a blast, since I was incapable of driving it just as I was incapable of wrangling our freighter up and away from that horrid place, but nodding looked like the reasonable thing to do. It seemed to be enough to satisfy the pilot, at the very least.

«Good» he said, just as someone stepped out of the shadows.

It was an alien. I didn’t recognize the species, at first. Draethos were not uncommon on Coruscant, but not many of them frequented the Political Sciences wing of the Royal Academy–philosophy and humanities were the preferred topics for that particular race. I was so unused to the sight that it took me a long moment to give a name to the elongated head, the protruding teeth and the purple scaly skin. The alien had no lips, no ears, and nostrils so low that they almost touched the narrow maxilla.

The voice that resounded in my head, however, made impossible to mistake the alien for anything but one of the exiles of the warrior race of the planet Draethos.

**_Welcome to Rokran, my unfortunate friends. I, Nag-Ruh, offer my help to you and to the Resistance._ **

The pilot started, at the gentle mental touch. He was clearly unused to have anyone but himself inside his head.

«Ah… Thank you for your welcome, Nag-Ruh. My name’s Poe, and my friend’s called Helana.» I didn’t know if I resented more being labelled his _friend_ , of all things, or having my name thrown around for common use, like an old pair of rusty tongs. «We’re very grateful for your help. We really need it.»

I wouldn’t be in need of any help whatsoever if the pilot hadn’t _crashed our blasted ship­_ , I thought, barely holding it in. I schooled my face in one of the blandest, sweetest expressions of my collection. I was _grateful_ , however, for the fact that Draethos could not pick up thoughts, but only send out their own–our new _friend_ didn’t need to get that much acquainted with my distaste for the entire situation.

As the Draethos drew nearer, I realised how tall he was–he was almost on a par with the pilot’s head, even though the pilot was sitting on a speeder. He looked healthy enough, if not exactly well-fed, with a broad chest and even broader shoulders. Life in the mining town had mowed down whatever fat his body could yield, and only sinewy muscles covered his bones. His lean shape was easy to pick up, through the clean but threadbare clothes he was wearing.

**_You did well to come to me. These are difficult times, and the First Order is stronger than ever. Looking for help might be… dangerous, right now, if you were to look in the wrong place._ **

Those words did not sound particularly encouraging. I did my best to sit stock still, forbidding myself even the luxury of frowning.

«Is the First Order around? Here? Right now?» the pilot hissed, bending towards the Draethos.

The alien looked at him with small, sympathetic eyes, that in the poorly lit cave looked pitch-black.

**_They are never far. But yes, they came here over an hour ago._ **

«Do you know why?» the pilot pressed on, with unmistakable, if bravely hidden, worry.

 _Something is wrong._ I could feel it in my bones. The alley seemed even narrower now, pressing from every direction. There was no place to run–the stone walls surrounded us more effectively than an entire army.

**_I do not. But they are here, and they are looking._ **

«Why did you ask us to come here, then?» the pilot demanded, voice harsh now, full of suspicion.

The Draethos looked almost hurt, as though he was telepathic just enough to catch the underlying wariness of the pilot’s tone.

**_I tried to warn you. I sent you another message, informing you of their presence, but I received no reply. I thought you might already be on your way, so I came here to meet you._ **

I wasn’t sure if I trusted him, but the pilot obviously did. I hadn’t realised how tense he was until he sagged on his seat, still fully alert, but not mistrustful anymore.

 _He trusts so easily_ , I thought. For the first time since I met him, I wondered if he trusted me as well. He had admitted that he was studying me for General Organa, but I hadn’t given a single thought about his judgment, until now. It was curious, however, how easily he was putting his faith in this Draethos, who could very well get us killed, and how sharply he was still evaluating me, who had no power whatsoever neither over him nor over his precious Resistance. Not that I cared either way, but eliciting misgivings in the people I met was a grave flaw in a diplomat. I was supposed to inspire trust, not suspicion.

_A thought for a later time._

«We need to leave, as soon as possible. But we can’t go anywhere without the injector.» The pilot mechanically tried to push a hand through his hair, but the goggles were in the way, so he just ruffled the thick black curls and let his arm fall back on his thigh. «Do you have it with you?»

 ** _I do not. But I am about to acquire one._** The pilot sighed in relief at the words, just as I froze on the spot to avoid a frown. I was a diplomat–I knew all about empty promises. **_However, I require your help, in exchange._**

I liked _that_ even less, but the pilot didn’t seem to share my reservations. His smile just grew broader, as he lifted up his hands and widened his arms in an instinctively welcoming gesture. I hadn’t been wrong, before–he seemed awfully eager to help, whatever that might entail.

«What do you need?» the pilot asked, injector forgotten. I vaguely wondered how he had managed to stay alive that long.

**_I have information, useful information for the Resistance. You used the right frequencies, you sent the right code. I trust you. The First Order is too close, and I have not been able to transmit anything outside this quadrant for almost a cycle. I will send every intelligence I possess to your ship. I need you to rely it to the General._ **

«It shall be done, my friend» the pilot cheerfully promised, as he stretched out to lay a hand on the Draethos’s shoulder. I could not understand those easy touches any more than anything else coming out of the pilot’s mouth, or flitting through his expressive face. The man was still a mystery to me. «The Resistance owns you a big deal. You saved us, and what you’re doing here will not be forgotten. I promise you.»

**_Thank you, Friend Poe. Please, give my regards to the General, and tell her that the Order is dangerous, extremely dangerous. There is a storm building up._ **

So dramatic. But the pilot seemed just at home.

«Will do - he replied, squeezing the Draethos’s shoulder once before letting him go - That’s what we’re preparing for. Do you need anything else?»

**_Protect the Republic. We are counting on you._ **

The pilot nodded gravely at that, and made to speak again–but the Draethos’s face seemed to freeze up, eyes bulging and teeth clinching as he drew a sharp, panicky breath. I saw the veins protruding from the scaly skin on his neck, as his muscles locked up, and the hand he had been stretching towards the pilot halted in midair.

I was close enough to the pilot that I felt his back stiffen, at that abrupt display of fear.

 _It’s a dead end_ , he had said. Suddenly, that words made more sense than anything else I had heard in the last ten minutes.

 _We are trapped_ , he had meant.

And we were. We were enclosed by rock walls and buried deep beneath the ground, in a closed alley lit so poorly that no one would see us die.

«What’s wrong?» the pilot asked, voice piercing, body tense. He didn’t seem scared, though. He looked just like he had when the ship was about to crash into the ground–sharp and fierce and utterly focused.

 _He is used to this_ , I realised. Not only that. He _thrived_ on it.

For the very first time, I didn’t see the pilot, as I looked at him–I saw the fighter. Deep blue skylines overlapping blood-red laser blasts.

It was the pilot that I had met, but right then and there, it was the animal I was clutching in my fists. The underlying darkness, the electric fight-or-flight reaction, the anticipation of a battle. It was deep and jarring and primitive, utterly uncivilized, a savage thrill. A thirst for blood that was utterly alien to me, as alien as the Draethos staring back at us with wide, terrified black eyes.

_Who are you?_

The thought hit me so abruptly that my breath caught in my breast. I didn’t know that man at all.

The alien’s mental voice felt as strained as a bow, as it echoed through my brain.

**_She is near. The storm… the oncoming darkness. She is so close that even_ ** **I _can feel her._**

That made no sense. I wasn’t aware Draethos could feel _anything_ coming.

«Who’re you talking about?» the pilot pressed on, alert and alive, ready for a fight.

**_She is so strong… and she is not trying to hide herself at all. Why should she? There is no danger whatsoever for her, not here. Her power is thunder and hail and earthquake._ **

«Who’s she? Is she First Order?»

The Draethos blinked, as though he was fighting to bring the pilot back into focus.

**_She is the Horned Conjurer. You have to hide. You have to run._ **

«We can’t leave, not without the injector» the pilot insisted, clearly less impressed with this oncoming darkness than the Draethos.

The alien moved so fast that his hands were a blur, as he snatched them up to the pilot’s head. He didn’t just take hold of him–he _grabbed_ him, four-fingered hands caging his face as the Draethos drew nearer, so close that the barest movement would end into a kiss. The Draethos’s exposed teeth were grazing the pilot’s lips, and for a moment I thought that that was it–we would be mauled in a dingy alley by a crazy alien, and whoever this Horned Conjurer was, she would happily walk over our dead bodies.

Then the Draethos loosened his grip, and the pilot bent over with a hand pressed over his face and a pained groan. The whole thing had been so quick that I hadn’t even had the time to react–I had just sat there as useless as a Corellian doll, clutching the pilot’s shirt and staring uncomprehendingly to whatever was going on in front of me.

Maybe _that_ was what madness felt like.

**_I apologize for the method of my delivery, Friend Poe, but there is no more time. Meet me there, tomorrow in the morning. I will have what you need. Now, leave. RUN._ **

And with that last goodbye, the Draethos retreated into the shadows, leaving us alone in the gloomy alley. I tried to follow him with my eyes, but he could see in the half-light much better than I, and his dark shape just seemed to melt away in the darkness.

That left me with a groaning pilot, folded over the handlebars of the speeder and clutching at his head.

«What’s wrong? What did he do to you?» I demanded, yanking at his shirt as though that could give me the answers I wanted.

The pilot just mumbled a protest, as every heavy breath dragged a groan from his lips.

«He dumped his entire knowledge of these corridors straight into my brain» he hissed, after a beat. « _Fuck_. My head.»

I snorted. I caught myself just in time, before I could do something completely out of character, like stroking his heaving back.

«Luckily for him there was plenty of space.»

The jab was out of my mouth before I could even _think_ of it. I should have known better, but the stone walls felt as though they were about to constrict around me, cutting my breath, and the Draethos’s words had rattled me more than I cared to admit. The oncoming darkness. Wasn’t _that_ heartening.

And there I was, alone with a useless pilot that couldn’t even start the blasted speeder.

«Best compliments, as always» the pilot grumbled under his breath.

I ignored him.

«We need to leave - I pressed, instead - I don’t like this. I have no idea what your spy was blabbering about, but he was scared.»

«He was not _scared_ \- the pilot replied, as he laboriously straightened himself - He was terrified out of his mind.»

Which reassured me to no end.

«All the more reason to leave. Do you have the coordinates for the next rendezvous?»

I could only blame myself for following him there, but I trusted the self-preservation instinct of that pilot as much as I would trust a hungry acklay. After what I had seen, I was more convinced than ever that if I had let him go alone, I would have died of hunger on the blasted freighter waiting for him to come back–and that if nothing worse, nothing _darker_ , had come looking for me before that.

«Yes» the pilot wearily answered. «I have _everything_. And then some.»

«What is the plan, then?» I asked, unwilling to let it go. I was being worse than useless with my questions, but I needed to know. I couldn’t bear the thought of being left in the darkness, just dragged along for the ride without any clue about what would be coming next. I needed whatever scraps of control I could stitch together.

«The plan - the pilot ground out, as he turned on the speeder - is to leave. Right now. There are tunnels here that no one knows, tunnels that will lead us straight through the mountain range. Nag-Ruh will meet us on the other side in nineteen hours, with our injector.»

I didn’t like the idea of spending the night in the wild, with that Horned Conjurer so close, but we had no alternatives that I could see. The fuel stored in our speeder wouldn’t last forever, even _I_ knew that. Going back to the ship for the night was both impractical and impossible, if we didn’t want to risk ending up stranded in the middle of the savannah with a dry speeder and a working, but useless, injector.

«Very well» I bit out, as the pilot manoeuvred the speeder back into the tunnel, towards the main corridor.

As we drifted slowly through the web of tunnels and narrow caves, the Draethos’s words would not leave me alone. I mulled them over, picking them apart and putting them back together.

Our pace was so slow that I could easily speak into the pilot’s ear, and hear his reply without being forced to shout.

«What the spy said…»

«Nag-Ruh» the pilot corrected me sharply, as though the Draethos’s name was the important thing to remember.

«Yes, Nag-Ruh - I amended impatiently - He talked about power. Thunders and storms and some other nonsense like that.» I took a little pause, ignoring the silent disapproval pouring out the pilot at my dismissive tone. «Was he talking about… the Force?»

The pilot didn’t answer straight away. I was about to repeat my question, when I heard his voice.

«I don’t know» he carefully replied. «It could be. I’ve never heard anything about a connection between the First Order and the Force, but… the Empire had Darth Vader. It’s not much of a stretch to wonder if the Order’s hiding something, too.»

I hummed under my breath. That didn’t sound good at all. The Force had seemed much more interesting when it was little more than a legend, held by a man that was barely more real than that. I disliked how close it was feeling now, how concrete. But, most of all, I disliked the idea of an advantage of that kind yielded by someone that was, for all intent and purpose, an enemy. I had never appreciated the feeling of being overpowered, and it was unlikely that I would start now–trapped as I was in a cave on an alien planet and threatened by an unknown power.

«The Jedi should know - I thoughtfully replied - Skywalker should know. He should be doing something about it.»

The pilot chuckled under his breath, but there was no mirth in that sound. He seemed to feel better, at least.

«If he doesn’t know already, he will. Who knows, maybe we’ve been luckier than we thought to crash on this planet.»

I knew he couldn’t see me, but I rolled my eyes anyway.

«Oh, yes, I feel so _blessed_ to have almost died and to be forced to spend a few days in the wilderness with _you_ \- I snapped back, giving up on any pretence of diplomacy - That is, if we ever make it back.»

«Of course we’ll make it back! - the pilot shot back at me, offended by my lack of faith - We almost have what we need. Tomorrow we’ll be out of here, don’t worry, and you’ll be rid of me.»

If I hadn’t known any better, I could have sworn that there was genuine _hurt_ in the pilot’s voice. The idea alone was ludicrous, but it took me aback just enough to delay my reply. And when I finally gathered my thoughts just enough to concoct a scathing reply, the pilot’s voice cut through them like a vibroblade.

«Troopers!» he hissed, as though that made sense whatsoever, as though I had ever seen anything like it before. As though Stormtroopers were to me anything more than a story, a gleaming picture on a datapad.

My eyes widened, as I caught sight of something white, gleaming of a yellowish hue in the artificial lights.

 _Stormtroopers_.

Legends come to life. The tale of the old Empire, the whisper of a threat in the dark.

I stared. How could I not? I stared as a Talusi paralope would stare at the sludge panther that was about to tear it apart, fascinated and terrified and everything in between.

I realised how tightly I was clutching at the pilot’s shirt only when I heard his voice again.

«Helana - he murmured, low and soft, as though he was trying to calm a terrified animal - Stay calm. Everything will be fine.»

I yanked at his shirt so hard that I expected, for a moment, to tear it off his chest.

«Do you know that for a fact?» I whispered, heart hammering in my chest, head as light as a feather. I had inched myself so close to him that I could feel the warmth of the pilot’s skin seep through, but I couldn’t remember when.

Suddenly, the tunnel felt stifling hot, and I wondered how I hadn’t registered the smell before–the stench of pressed earth and filthy bodies, the heavy, stale air. I could barely breathe.

«Yes, I know that for a fact. Trust me for once, will you?» the pilot murmured back, some exasperation trickling into his even voice. «Just… try to be inconspicuous.»

There were five troopers, huddled close to three white speeders, and obviously commanded by a sixth one–a giant Stormtrooper in silver armour, jutting out from the crowd mulling around them. Not that there was much mulling going on in their proximity–everyone seemed pretty keen on giving them a wide berth. The helmets hid their feature, but the blasters they were holding could be seen from a distance.

We couldn’t avoid them in any way. There were no secondary tunnels where we could hide, no way to go but forward. We were back to the main corridor, and the crowd was so thick, in that point, that we would make more of a fuss trying to turn back than to pass them by.

«And how do you do that, exactly?» I hissed in the pilot’s ear, so close that I could feel the hard planes of his back pressed against my chest, from throat to belly, and the handle of his blaster digging painfully into my flesh.

His groan would have earned him another scathing remark, if the situation hadn’t gone from bad to worse in barely a handful of seconds.

The crowd had opened slightly, so close to the Stormtroopers, and I caught sight of something new–something small, looking even smaller in comparison to the giant silver Stormtrooper at its side. It was  swaddled in black, from head to toe, and it could have been anything at all -a man, a woman, a human, an alien-, with the mask covering its face. A black, shiny mask, carved at the top with what looked like a thicket of antlers.

 _The Horned Conjurer_. The _she_ the Resistance’s spy had been referring to.

I saw the mask the same moment in which whatever was behind it saw me, and I knew. I knew she had recognized me, and I knew we were dead.

«Poe - I whispered, the name coming unbidden to my tongue for the very first time - _RUN_.»

I half-expected him to hesitate, to argue, to refuse.

He did nothing of the sort.

With a whooshing, roaring sound, the speeder jumped forward, slamming against a transport so loudly that the entire corridor stood stock still for a split of a second. Then someone screamed, and I realised that the unbearable screeching was coming from someone that had been unceremoniously pushed out of the way by the muzzle of our speeder, and that people were jumping left and right as many hares to avoid being mowed down.

The only reason the jump had not entirely dislodged me from my position was that I had been clutching at the pilot’s shirt so hard that my knuckles hurt. But it wasn’t enough anymore, not with the breakneck speed at which we were dashing through the tunnel, not with the criss-crossing pattern the pilot was following to avoid people and transports enough to slam into them, if inevitable, but not to be impeded in our escape. I let go of his shirt and locked my arms around his waist, pressing myself as close as possible and hanging on for dear life. The last thing I wanted was to fall down at that impossible speed–I would break my neck against the rocks even before the Stormtroopers got close enough to capture me.

Faces and colours and the strident flashings of artificial lights twirled before my eyes like a kaleidoscope, confused and just as jarring, making impossible for me to discern a pattern, a colour, or a shape. It reminded me of light-speed, a vortex of sparks in the darkness, and it felt as though the pilot had just plunged into it at full throttle.

The experience had left me breathless enough that it took me some time to realise that there were other sounds, and other lights, aside the screaming of people and the flashing of the lamps. _Something_ blasted the stone wall so close to my face that I felt the warmth of the laser beam, and I turned my head just in time to avoid a cascade of splinters driven into my eyes by the sheer force of the impact.

«They’re shooting at us!» I yelled, without even thinking, as soon as my brain managed to wrap itself around that particular piece of information.

I was not scared, not yet. For some reason, the idea that someone could _shoot_ at me, as though I was some common criminal, as though as I was some kind of prey to be chased after and put down, _outraged_ me.

I was a soon-to-be Chandrilan Ambassador. How _dared_ they?!

«You noticed that too?» the pilot had the nerve to reply, just as a touch of his hands on the handlebars made the speeder tilt so steeply that I felt the rock wall brush against my hair. A laser blast shot right above us, and I heard a screeching of plasteel as the speeder avoided a lugging transport by a hair’s breadth.

For a moment, I simply couldn’t believe all of it. The concept of danger, the very tangible reality of dying, had somehow faded, as I was faced with the sheer indignity of being hunted down like an animal. It was a concept I had never entertained before. It was simply too absurd to be considered.

«This is so... - I grasped for words, as the stale air of the cave whooshed around us - undignified!»

«Not the word I’d choose!» the pilot shouted back, as we plunged straight into another tunnel, less crowded, and more scarcely lit.

Another blast, close to my right foot. Another tilt. Another corridor. There were no houses built in the stone walls anymore, and few people, scattered transports, almost no lights. I tuned out the screams, tuned out the faces. But even my own obtuse denial could blot out reality only for so long.

I was so affronted, so inexplicably _angry_ at the idea of being shot at, that I made the mistake of turning back, to glare at whomever was so brazen to treat a diplomat that way. And as I looked back, _truly_ looked, I realised that I was staring at a very ugly, very violent, and very close death.

There were three speeders chasing us. I stared at the closest of the bunch with eyes as wide as saucers, as the Stormtrooper behind the handlebars tilted it up to jump over a transport and the one just behind took careful aim straight at my face.

 _I am about to die_ , I thought, as I looked down the black barrel of a blaster. _I am about to die, and I can do nothing to avoid it._

The horror of that was unadulterated, undiluted, and absolute. I couldn’t hide, I couldn’t protect myself in any way. I felt so unbearably, obscenely exposed, that I would have cried, if the horror hadn’t been so all-consuming. I wasn’t even breathing. The world was spinning, and for a moment I almost lost my grip on the pilot, as the speeder jumped up to avoid a cargo.

« _HELANA_!»

Someone was shouting my name. It felt so, so far away.

The speeder careened dangerously, and a hand grasped mine, painfully tight, and _yanked_. The shot that should have blasted my face straight off fell somewhere over my head.

« _HELANA_! Get a grip on yourself!»

I was pulled violently against the pilot’s back, and I realised that he had grabbed me barely a second before I fell crashing into the ground. He had saved my life.

My nose was tingling from the impact, as I wound my arms even tighter around his waist.

«We’re getting out of this, you hear me? Just hold on tight!» the pilot was shouting, as he dodged another speeder and plunged straight into another tunnel. «I know this place. Nag-Ruh gave me everything I need. It’s all in my head!»

And wasn’t that a comfort.

I grabbed him as tight as I could, with all the strength I could muster. I didn’t stop to think if I was hurting him. I just held on, as the panic crested up and up in my terrified mind. I was so petrified with fear that I barely perceived the blaster in the pilot’s trousers dig a space for itself in my soft belly, and using it didn’t even cross my mind.

I could feel the weapons trained on my bare back as a prickle trailing over my skin. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. I could only trust the pilot.

My mind recoiled at the thought. I trusted my father, and I trusted Lady Lilandra. I didn’t _trust_ other people. And I would have never, _ever_ trusted a pilot. You don’t trust a Corellian snake–you cut its head clean off. But now I could do nothing to help myself, to dig my way out. I was helpless. I was useless. And the pilot was the only one capable of getting me out of there.

«It’s gonna be alright, Helana» he was shouting, and his voice cut through, somehow. I pressed my face between his shoulder blades, and I breathed him in.

 _Poe_ , I thought. _That’s his name_.

And that was the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin.

I couldn’t trust the pilot, but Poe had saved my life. Maybe, just maybe, I could trust Poe.

«I’m alright - I shouted, against his back - Drive, Poe. Get us out of here.»

The speeder tilted right again, and a blast shot pierced through a skulking bystander that hadn’t been fast enough to get out of the way. His dying scream got lost in the chaos, even as the tunnel echoed the sound.

«Hold tight» the pilot, _Poe_ , repeated, as the speeder careened dangerously and jumped straight into yet another narrow tunnel.

I had got so used to being shot at, absurdly enough, that it took me a moment to realise that no laser blast was flying in our direction anymore. The sudden silence felt unsettling, even when the whooshing of the running speeders was so loud to cover the sound of my breath.

Letting go and trusting blindly another human being was a concept so alien to my nature that even then, even there, I couldn’t just close my eyes and hope for the best. Problems never just disappeared. Problems followed you to the very end, apparently with a blaster in their hands, and I could smell the rotted scent of our rapidly deteriorating situation. I could smell the oncoming death.

I knew it was a bad idea, but I just couldn’t stop myself. Slowly, carefully, I lifted my head from Poe’s shoulders and looked back.

The white-armoured Stormtroopers were so far behind that I could barely make them out in the spare artificial light, but the third speeder had jumped forward, and was right behind us. The gleaming silver Stormtrooper was behind the handlebars, and was driving it with a competence than I had rarely seen before. Poe was still the most skilled pilot, but it was a narrow victory.

And there, behind the silver Stormtrooper, was the shape in black.

 _The Horned Conjurer_.

I trembled at that.

The oncoming darkness.

It should have been ridiculous–something so little, clutching at that giant of a Stormtrooper, peeking out the huge, gleaming back. It should have been, maybe, but it wasn’t. I could see the cloak billowing behind the dark shape, and there was something menacing, something terrifying in the dodged determination with which the helmet was pointed straight at us. The feeling of being stalked, of being hunted down, trickled down my spine as deep as a shiver. Whatever she was, there was nothing human in there.

I reflexively squeezed Poe’s waist, breath caught into my throat, as the lithe figure lifted a gloved hand and pointed it in our direction.

«What’s wrong, Helana?» I heard Poe ask, just before the mountain, around us, started to screech and grumble as though an enormous hand was squeezing the stone.

«It’s _her_ \- I replied, yelling over the ear-splitting wailing sound - Your spy’s Horned Conjurer. Poe, she’s using the Force!»

I had no idea how the Force worked, but the figure in black was doing _something_ , and that something was making the rock around us howl in agony. Dust and dirt fell upon us, blinding me, and the speeder tilted dangerously as Poe dashed through.

«She’s pulling down the blasted mountain right on our heads!» Poe shouted, as he dodged a boulder as big as his head falling from the ceiling.

And then, as though his words had somehow given her ideas, a deep rumble came from above us.

The world tilted upside down, and I plunged into complete darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the KoR to show up! And Phasma <3  
> (If anyone here is familiar with my other fics, yes, that's Ishtar. It's not really important for the plot, it could be any Force-sensitive KoR, but if you're reading my MMO 'verse that's her making a little cameo <3 ).


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been quite a while, I know! And I’m truly sorry about it. It wasn’t my intention to let this story languish for so long, and I meant to get back to it sooner and finish what I’d started. I’m not going to lie–the lack of comments discouraged me a little, so I focused on other projects, but this time I hope to carry this story to the very end. Many thanks for all the kudos you left me, it’s you guys who brought me back here :)  
> To apologize, I offer you a very long chapter, where the story finally earns its rating. Enjoy!

I woke to a hand gently squeezing my shoulder.

«Helana? Are you alright?»

That felt like an overly complex question, at the moment. I groaned, as I tried to lift my bruised body from the ground. There was a single light ahead, soft and pointed to the other side of the tunnel, and the shadows were so thick that I could barely make out the shape crouched in front of me.

It was the pilot, of course. Poe.

«What happened?» I grumbled, as I forced my body to sit up, if not to stand. Any other position would have been too undignified to endure.

Poe’s hand lingered on my shoulder, ready to prop me up if I were to fall over.

«I managed to throw us into an abandoned tunnel just before the ceiling collapsed on our heads. It wasn’t pretty, though.»

«One day you will manage to stop a moving vehicle without crashing it, I am sure» I mumbled, as I pressed a hand to my face. Everything seemed to be where I had left it.

Poe chuckled at my jibe.

«I didn’t scramble your brain this time either, then» he grinned, as he slowly let me go.

I felt something wet on my face, when I touched my temple. I peered at my fingers, and they looked dipped in black in the thick shadow.

«Not for lack of effort on your part» I grumbled. «Am I bleeding?»

Poe was staring intently at me–had been for quite some time, I realised.

«A little - he answered, fishing a rag from his pocket - Here. Let me.»

I flinched at the proffered hand, eyeing the rag suspiciously.

«Is that thing even clean?» I demanded, and I could see Poe roll his eyes even in the half-light.

«Yes. It’s clean, I swear.»

I wasn’t exactly convinced, but I allowed him anyway to dab at my face. The scratch stung when he pressed the rag on it, and I winced at the touch.

«Sorry» Poe mumbled, as he dabbed more gently at the bleeding cut. He was so close that he was blotting out the light, searching my face intently.

His touch was so soft it was unbearable. I didn’t know what to do with it.

«I think I will survive» I said, after a while. There was a certain obvious finality to my words, but Poe seemed to fail to grasp it. «I want to get up, now.»

Poe dabbed at the cut a couple more times, before taking the rag away. He was still close, though. Intolerably so.

«I’ll help you» he offered. His hand brushed my arm, and I recoiled. The gentleness of his touch was impossible to endure. I wasn’t a delicate thing to be coddled. I wasn’t fragile. I wasn’t needy.

Those Stormtroopers had made me feel just like that. Helpless. Vulnerable. Stripped of any form of control, over myself or my surroundings. I would not allow anyone else to make me feel that way ever again.

«Thank you, but I don’t need your help» I ground out, through gritted teeth.

Poe shrunk back at the tone, as though I had struck him. And yet, even if it hurt, he stayed exactly where he was. He didn’t touch me again, but he was obviously ready to catch me, if I were to fall.

I clenched my teeth so hard I heard them crack. I would not fall.

It took me an embarrassing amount of time to push my feet under my body, and swaying as a red reed in the Chandrilan marshes as I straightened up was humiliating, but I did not fall, and Poe did not touch me again.

Once reassured that I wouldn’t topple over the moment he turned his back, Poe nodded, and then went back to his speeder. That was the source of light–our own transport, miraculously intact and apparently still functioning, as it hovered a few inches above the ground. Behind me, what looked like a wall of crumbled boulders and loose earth stood where an entrance had once been.

«We’d better move - Poe said, as he waited for me to join him - I have no idea what’s happening on the other side, or if anyone is still alive, but we’d better be very far away when they come looking for us.»

As I approached him, I finally managed to see him in full light.

«What has happened to you?» I blurted out. There were bleeding scratches crawling all over his right arm, beneath the tattered sleeve of his torn and bloodied shirt. The cuts didn’t seem to be too deep, but I couldn’t see well enough to be sure.

«It wasn’t pretty, I told you» Poe replied, ducking his head slightly. There were dark bruises on his face, partly hidden by his tanned skin. There was blood there, too.

«And you didn’t think of stopping yourself from bleeding out, before playing nurse with me?» I snapped, as I looked for something I could use to do that myself. I wasn’t going to rip my clothes off my back, that for sure–not even if Poe was about to bleed to death right in front of me.

«Do you have any other passably clean rag hidden in your pockets?» I demanded, when no solution presented itself.

Poe shrugged.

«It’s barely a scratch» he replied, without hinting in the slightest to be about to do something to solve the problem.

I sighed in blatant exasperation. The man had clearly the survival instinct of a suicidal Chandrilan lemming.

«Give me the blasted rag» I grumbled, snatching it from his hand as soon as he produced it from his pocket. «And bend a little. As if you really needed to be so tall to pilot a stupid ship.»

Poe let out a chuckle, but obeyed without complaint. I appreciated that. I liked it when people did what I said without bothering to argue, it saved everyone a whole lot of time.

«Were you trying to stop the blasted speeder with your face?» I grumbled, as I framed his rough cheeks between my palms and surveyed the damage. There was a long cut under his eye, and a few scratches here and there, but nothing serious. I expected his face to look like a wonderful black-and-blue painting in a few hours, though, and the scruff thickening steadily on his cheeks wasn’t helping in the slightest.

«It was careening, I couldn’t have stopped it even I’d wanted to. I jumped off» Poe explained, looking unperturbed at the idea of having almost died on a speeder after barely escaping being crushed under a mountain.

I hummed, as I found a clean corner of the rag and dabbed at the bleeding cut on his cheekbone.

«Does that happen often to you? Being forced to jump off crashing vehicles?» I asked distractedly, caught up in my task. His smirk was impossible to miss.

«Why, are you worried?»

I snorted.

«That you will crash again with me onboard? Given your track record, it feels more like a promise than a concern.»

Poe chuckled again, and I was so close that I felt his breath ghost over my chin.

I glanced up from the cut I was tending to, and I realised that he was staring straight at me. His eyes looked huge and as dark as dusk at that risible distance.

«Better a few cuts and bruises than ending up with a leg trapped under a speeder. Trust me. I’ve seen it.»

His skin was deliciously warm against my palm. I swept a thumb across his undamaged cheekbone, and Poe sighed under his breath.

I frowned, as a thought suddenly hit me.

«Where was I, when you were throwing yourself down a speeding transport?» I demanded, as I checked for more injuries. I was satisfied with the closing cut on his left cheekbone, and Poe allowed me to turn his head left and right as I pleased.

«Clinging to me just enough that I managed to drag you down, too» he replied, not exactly forthcoming.

I stopped my search, shooting a quizzical look at him.

«You used your own body as a buffer. You protected me.»

Poe’s expression was too complicated to read. It was something between uncertainty and pride and, strangely enough, embarrassment.

«…yeah?»

I swatted the corner of the rag straight at his nose, letting him go.

«You won’t survive very long» I predicted, turning my attention to his banged-up arm. Poe hissed, as I rolled up the torn and bloodied sleeve, but the cuts and bruises looked minor enough. «Frankly, I am amazed you have made it this far.»

«Someone else would have thanked me, you know.»

I shrugged.

«Then, I suggest you try with them, next time. I am sure your arm will hurt less, after a thank you.»

«It surely wouldn’t hurt more» he grumbled, and I laughed at that. I dabbed at the last cuts and then I finally let him go, stuffing the bloodied rag into my pocket.

«Thank you, Poe» I dutifully said, looking up at him with a smirk. «Feel free to bang yourself up on my account any day.»

Poe snorted, and then laughed, open and unguarded.

I blinked, as he raised his hand and brushed my cheek. The touch had been fleeting, barely felt, but I hadn’t expected him to touch me at all.

«Let’s go» he chuckled, a smile still dancing on his lips.

I had nothing to say to that. I nodded, and I was grateful when Poe pretended nothing was wrong, as I struggled to climb onboard. There didn’t seem to be anything broken, but my bones were clearly not happy with the experience. I was hurting everywhere, from my shoulders to my knees, and even if it wasn’t sufficient to hinder my movements, it was enough to make hopping on a hovering vehicle a difficult task, if not an impossible one.

When I finally regained my seat, I let my hands hover at Poe’s sides, as my mind mulled over the problem. Grabbing his shirt seemed silly, all of a sudden. I had plastered myself all over his back for kilometres, as we ran through the tunnels. And yet, the idea of forcing that much of a contact felt just as ridiculous.

«Is something wrong?» Poe asked eventually, when it had become clear that no touch was forthcoming. He was waiting for me to hold on, before starting up the speeder–no surprise kick-offs, this time. He was being careful with me, _again_. I couldn’t stand it.

«Of course not» I snapped, as I placed my hands at his sides. I had resigned myself to touch him, by now, but I _needed_ the distance. I couldn’t abide the thought of looking for comfort. It would strip me of myself. And I had the snaking suspicion that, if I let go, I would start screaming without knowing how to stop.

Poe didn’t argue. Seemingly satisfied with the light touches at his sides, he started up the speeder without a word, diving down the dark, winding corridor.

Unlike the other tunnels, there were no people there, no lights. We were not dashing at breakneck speed anymore, but the absence of obstacles meant that we were able to choose an even pace, without being forced down to a crawl. The tunnels through which we were drifting were exceedingly narrow, with ceilings surprisingly low and devoid even of the shiny plasteel arches that in the other corridors had kept the mountain from collapsing over our heads–until that girl had shown up, at least.

There was nothing to see, in the deep shadows. Only more rock walls, and more winding corridors. The silence was absolute, broken only by the steady whirring of our speeder and by the random scurrying of something dark and little and feathered over the ground. I felt incredibly tired, all of a sudden–as though the effort of staying alive, of soldiering through the day and escaping death multiple times, had waited for me to unclench just enough and then had crashed over my shoulders in one single swoop. I closed my eyes, as I let the even whooshing of our speeder soothe my bruised mind and battered body.

I woke up with a start, when my nose bumped against Poe’s nape.

«Everything ok?»

I blinked rapidly, trying to focus. I was leaning against his back, but I couldn’t remember moving so close. I couldn’t remember winding my arms around his waist, either. I couldn’t remember falling asleep.

«Yes» I replied, without going into details. There was no need to admit that I had fallen asleep on him. No point in sharing a weakness.

I expected Poe to insist, or to fall back into silence, instead he asked:

«Are you hungry?»

The question caught me by surprise. Was I? My body was still struggling to recover from imminent death, and my stomach somehow just got pushed at the bottom of my priority list.

As Poe asked, however, I realised that I was. I hadn’t eaten anything since we left the freighter, and that had been hours ago.

«I could eat» I conceded, as the memory sparked another thought in my mind. «What time is it?»

«A little past five - Poe answered, checking the little bright monitor installed between the handlebars - We’re halfway to the rendezvous point. We should be there in another couple of hours, I think. Three, tops.»

I hummed. I could feel myself nodding off again, the silence and the darkness placating my overworked senses.

«I got something to eat, if you want - Poe said, his voice reaching through the fine mist of almost sleep - But if you’d rather sleep some more, that’s fine by me.»

So much for not sharing a weakness.

Oh, well. No point in pretending anymore.

«Wake me up when we are there» I instructed him, adjusting my grip around his waist and relaxing against his back.

This was just logical, after all. I was trying to sleep, not looking for comfort.

I pressed my face between his shoulder blades, and breathed him in. The scent and warmth of his skin lulled me to sleep.

 

* * *

 

I blinked my eyes open an indefinite amount of time later. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours–there had been no change whatsoever in the background that could point out to any specific amount of time.

Poe felt me stir against his back.

«Welcome back» he said cheerfully, voice quiet but still startling in the dead silence of the tunnel.

I hummed under my breath, fighting the instinct to rub my drowsy face in the snug hollow between his shoulder blades. The smell of his skin had become strangely familiar, and that feeling alone was enough to start me back to full awareness.

«Where are we?» I asked, sliding my hands to rest on his sides and putting some distance between our bodies.

«Almost there. I was about to wake you up.»

Finally something that I was happy to hear. As the sleepiness slowly ebbed away, so did the bone-deep exhaustion, leaving me awake and uncomfortably aware of my surroundings. The darkness was absolute, the silent disquieting, and the air heavy and stale. The smell of dirt and soil was suddenly overpowering, and every breath seemed impossibly difficult to draw. I was, for all intents and purposes, buried deep inside a grave. I didn’t like the feeling. And as my brain finally processed what had happened during the past few hours, and remembered with eerie accuracy the moment when I had almost been crushed by the mountain surrounding us, I liked it even less. I couldn’t help but feeling as small as a granite slug–digging its way inside the durasteel bowels of a Coruscant skyscraper, the staggering bulk of which rooted deeply into the lowest levels of the Galactic City, hundreds of kilometres under the surface, and spiked up into the atmosphere as a shiny tower. I felt as though I was drifting through space–lost, and small. Insignificant and alone.

Just as I fought the instinct to clutch Poe closer, to feel _someone_ beside me in the nothingness, the narrow tunnel abruptly opened up into a hollow cave. I stared at the deep, unwelcoming darkness, that the speeder’s headlight failed to brighten. It was powerful enough to define the rough rocks flanking us, in a narrow corridor, but it couldn’t pierce the thick shadows of an open cave.

«I think we should stop here, for now» Poe declared, slowly bringing the speeder to a smooth halt. «See? Didn’t crash it, this time.»

«The best pilot of the Resistance, truly» I grumbled in reply, as I tried to make something out of the darkness. I couldn’t see anything more than the ground we were standing on. It was an eerie feeling, to say the least. A more accurate description would have been _alarming_.

_Lost._

No moor and no guiding star.

_Alone._

No lighthouses and no beacons in the darkness.

_Drifting into empty space._

I smothered down a tremble. That was a weakness I would _not_ share.

I needed to feel something, _anything_ , that could connect me to reality. I needed to feel grounded, somehow. I needed to feel moored.

I slid down the speeder, and the impact of my feet against the ground ricocheted up my legs and through my body, slithering like a rope around my splintering control and holding it together. I was not drifting without direction. I was not floating. I could make out very little in the absolute darkness, but I could still tell up from down. It wasn’t much, but it was the best I could get, and it was going to be enough. I would make sure of that.

«Is this the rendezvous point?» I asked, when I trusted myself enough to speak with a clear, unwavering voice. The respite had done wonders for my aching body, and though I still didn’t think I could tackle anything more demanding than standing upright, I didn’t feel like every single muscle was hurting anymore.

Poe followed me down, more slowly. He was staring at me, in a way that I found subtly disquieting. He was checking on me. I liked him better when he was studying me like a Coruscanti shadowmoth pinned to a sheet of flimsiplast.

«No. It’s close enough, but I don’t trust for the night a place where we’re expected to be.»

It made sense. There could still be hope for him, after all.

«We will be waiting here until morning, then?» I asked, as I looked around for a clue about what was expected of me next. There was nothing to see, nothing to suggest a course of action. There was just… nothing.

«Yes. Ten hours to the rendezvous. We could eat some and sleep - Poe shrugged - We should take turn at that, but don’t worry too much. I entered the alarm into the speeder’s navigation system. It will wake us up, if we both fall asleep.»

I nodded my agreement, but Poe was already scanning the cave around us with a piercing gaze. Eventually, he took one of the speeder’s handlebars and dragged it along, as he headed towards a direction that only he could see. The speeder followed him meekly, and after a moment I did the same.

«There should be… - Poe said, under his breath, before brightening up - Ah, yes. That.»

 _That_ turned out to be a little spring, spilling out the stone wall and gathering into a pool barely bigger than my head, before slipping away amongst the slippery boulders of the rocky ground. Poe pushed and pulled the speeder until he was satisfied with the positioning of the light, not straight on the spring but not too far off either.

«Ladies first» he said, motioning me to go on. When he received nothing more than a wary look for his troubles, he rolled his eyes and let out an explosive sigh. «It’s not poisoned, it’s not dirty, and it’s not infested by strange space parasites. It’s just water. The kind you drink.»

«And how would you know that?» I gracelessly grumbled, as I levelled the spraying water a mistrusting glower.

«Oh, for the sake of the Starbird and everything holy» Poe swore, marching up to the spring and swooping a handful of water straight to his mouth. He drank deeply, and then stared at me with a challenging glare, water dripping  from his chin. «See? Not dead. Now, drink. I’ll get us something to eat.»

«That you are not dead _now_ doesn’t mean that you will not be soon» I muttered, but it was an empty protest, to which Poe didn’t even bother to reply.

As he fussed about the speeder, I sat on the closest boulder and examined the spring. It was barely a hole in the stone wall, but the water coming out of it looked clean enough, transparent and warm to the touch. In the silence, the clinking of the streaming water was perfectly discernible, if a little muted, and I wondered how I hadn’t heard it before.

I heartily disliked that sort of things. As a child, I had hated with a passion the short trips that I had been required to endure to the most renown Chandrilan reservoirs, and at thirteen I had flat out refused to camp outside in the woods with the rest of my classmates, even for a few nights. I liked comfort, I liked luxury, and I liked to be surrounded by clean and practical things. I liked the certainty of what I knew. I hated not knowing where something that I was about to put into my mouth had been before.

The situation in which I had been shoved without my permission was about as uncivilized as they came, and being forced to suffer a night in the wilderness was just the last of a long string of indignities. If _that_ was how my relationship with the Resistance was to begin, I trembled to think about what was coming next. However, I was also practical enough to understand that resenting a situation would do nothing to improve it.

With a begrudging grumble, I collected some water in my cupped hands and brought them to my lips. I reared back, as an intolerable taste of musk and soil and dirt tapped on my sensitive taste buds.

«How did you manage to drink that? - I snapped, glowering at Poe - It’s disgusting!»

Poe just looked at me, lifting an eyebrow so high it disappeared under the goggles. They were still stuck on his forehead, somehow, just as my own were still dangling over my chest.

«It’s water. It’s not the filtered water you’re used to, nor the recycled water of a starship, but it’s water. It won’t bite you, and it’ll keep you alive.»

«I can taste… _things_ in it!» I lamented, utterly horrified at the prospect.

«They won’t bite you either» Poe simply rebutted. He had opened a compartment on one side of the speeder, and went promptly back to rummaging through it.

Left alone with my revulsion and that disgusting water, I could see no other choice but giving in. That little sip had left me parched, as though the hunger and the thirst that had been kept at bay through sheer shock had reared their ugly heads the moment I loosened the leash, and there was nothing else I could drink. With a defeated sigh, I forced myself to take another sip, and another, and another, until I was sucking the warm water from my fingers as a pilgrim lost in the desert.

«Better?»

Poe’s voice, from above. I hadn’t even heard him come close.

«Not really» I snapped back with a glare, before taking a handful of water and spraying it all over my face.

The sensation of being clean, for the first time in what felt like forever, was however better indeed.

«I have some cubes, when you’re ready» Poe said, eyes still trained on me. He had taken off his goggles, freeing his thick black curls to tumble over his forehead.

I ignored him, taking my time to wash my face over and over until I was satisfied. Then I took out the bloodied rag I had kept in my pocket and I gingerly used a somewhat clean corner to dry my wet skin. The scratch was still stinging, but it didn’t look about to start bleeding again.

Once satisfied, I rose up onto my feet and handed him the rag.

«There are not many clean corners left, but it is better than nothing.»

Poe stared at the proffered rag with an arched brow, before taking it with a low chuckle.

«You’re impossible. Anyone ever told you that?»

«Actually, no - I bit back, but I was fighting a smirk - They usually prefer _charming_.»

«They’re lying.»

«They are politicians. It is the least I would expect.»

Poe’s laughter followed me, as I headed back to the speeder and surveyed the small boxes that he had laid out onto the seats. There were two of them, full to the brim with protein cubes. I took off the goggles and placed them over the seat, before plucking one of the boxes. Since there was no other place, I lowered myself as daintily as I could on the bare ground, collecting my legs under my body and sitting on my heels.

After a short while, Poe came back and joined me. He took the blaster out of his trousers and laid it on the ground at arm distance, before sprawling down as the brute that he was–legs bent at the knees and unseemly spread out, box of cubes dangling in between. He nodded at my own box, still closed and resting neatly on my lap.

«Waiting for me?» he asked, looking at me with a raised brow, perfectly visible even in the dim light.

«There is no need to look so surprised - I replied, with a little shrug - I have been brought up with manners, you know.»

« _Politician_ ’s manners» Poe pointed out, opening his box and throwing a cube into his mouth.

«The best in the whole galaxy.»

He was smirking at me, as I opened my own box and, holding a cube between index and middle finger, brought it fastidiously to my lips.

«You seem to think that I’m some sort of savage, raised by mamiens in the jungle.»

«Yavin 4 is known for its jungles» I replied, with the most neutral voice and expression I could manage.

Poe snorted.

«I assure you, my parents did teach me some manners. Even if they were pilots.»

Hopefully more than my mother had taught me, since I could use the fingers of a single hand to count the times she had spared me five minutes of her life. But I would have died before sharing that with Poe.

«I admit to _some_ manners» I relented, as I fished another cube from the box. «But nothing that could not be improved.»

Most people I knew would have been mortally offended, by now. Poe simply laughed again, loud and deep, incomprehensibly amused.

«Do you _ever_ let go?» he asked, throwing another cube in his mouth.

I frowned. I didn’t like where that was going.

«What do you mean?»

Poe shrugged.

«Do you ever, I don’t know, relax? Do something just for your own sake?»

His eyes were twinkling in the darkness, reflecting the speeder’s headlight like a small constellation. His skin looked golden, and his hair pitch-black. The tattered sleeve was still were I had left it, rolled up on his bicep. I could see the cuts and bruises covering his naked arm, starker than the long black hairs that were almost invisible in the shadows. He was battered, dressed in a torn bloodied shirt and dirty trousers, and he was smirking as though he was having the best day of his life.

He was the most incomprehensible creature I had ever met.

«Everything I do is for my own sake - I admitted, somewhat incautiously - I like what I do. I like being the best at what I do.» I took a small pause, considering. «I would think that a concept you are more than familiar with.»

Poe tilted his head slightly, conceding a point.

«Fair enough.»

I stared warily at him, as he hesitated. He clearly had something to add, but he was unsure how it would be welcomed.

I realised, with no small amount of surprise, that Poe was entertaining a thought he considered _inappropriate_. The idea was titillating enough that it pushed me towards an unwise decision.

«I can hear you thinking - I remarked, a little impatiently - Just… say it. Whatever it is.»

Poe glanced briefly at me, before throwing another cube in his mouth and chewing on it silently. He was taking time. I refrained from rolling my eyes, but it was a close thing.

«What about sex?» he blurted out, barely waiting to swallow before rushing the words out of his mouth.

I arched a brow.

«What about it?»

«Do you… _can_ you… let go? - he was staring, and trying _not_ to stare at the same time - I mean… with someone else.»

I barely held in a laughter.

«Is that a proposition, Commander?»

His eyes turned piercing again, with the shade of a grin in the deep brown. Apparently, not being immediately yelled at had been enough to melt his hesitation away.

«Is that you dodging a question?»

I laughed aloud, this time.

«Such a devious man you are - I chuckled, before staring straight back at him - I would not know. I had not had time to do much but pour over my datapad, over the last five years. And before that… the little I had tried, it had bored me to death.»

Poe hardly even blinked, eyes fixed on me, as though he didn’t know what to make of that. Or what line to choose, exactly.

«…I see» he replied, after a beat. He stuffed another cube into his mouth, blatantly taking the time to ruffle through his options.

I wasn’t kind enough to give him _that_.

«I am perfectly capable of relaxing when I take care of business on my own, though» I carelessly replied, and I couldn’t repress a smirk as I saw him choke on the cube he was trying to swallow. «Anything else you would like to know?»

«…I think I’m good, thank you» Poe wheezed back, trying to catch his breath between one wrenching fit of cough and the other.

I relished the silence, after that short exchange. If I had known that just a few words about sex would have been enough to halt his relentless quest to dig as deep as possible inside my skull and drag my most shamefully weaknesses to the surface, I would have brought it up myself.

I was Chandrilan. I didn’t fully understand the hang-ups other planets had about sex, but the society that had raised me saw nothing shameful, or particularly intimate, in the whole sex business. It wasn’t paraded around, just as people wouldn’t make a show of drinking water, but it wasn’t considered anything much more private than that either. People openly spoke about it, and straightforwardly chose as many lovers as they saw fit, and as often as they saw fit. Sex was a simple necessity, nothing more, to be dealt with as such.

Feelings, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. Feelings were a private affair. They were not frowned upon, but they were personal, intimate, and not something to be easily shared.

As far as I was concerned, feelings were supposed to be hidden inside so deeply that no amount of digging could bring them to the surface. It shamed me, how easily Poe had been dragging them out. Fear, anger, distaste, hatred, discomfort. They were mine, and mine alone. I couldn’t stand to see them out in the open.

More than everything, I couldn’t abide to show my _need_. It was unseemly. People on Chandrila ate at the appropriate time, drank at the appropriate time, had the appropriate amount of sex, carefully calculated by each individual when they reached the right age. That meant being an adult, on Chandrila–knowing themselves enough to give their body just the precise amount of anything it might necessitate. Taking care of business.

An adult handled any specific physical requirement before it became a _need_ , before the lack of such would become visible, shamefully obvious. Letting themselves get to the point of admitting thirst, admitting hunger, or admitting the simple necessity of a physical contact, _that_ was not decent. An adult was supposed to have enough wisdom and enough control to prevent such a reprehensible situation from happening.

As far as I was concerned, I was proud of how much I could repress my needs. I hadn’t lied. I had kissed boys before, when I was little more than a child–a classmate during the spring festival, at fifteen, and an older boy, a family friend, coming back from the Royal Academy on Coruscant when I was seventeen. The first had felt clumsy, unseemly, and the second controlling, condescending. The first had bored me, and the second angered me. None had left me with much desire to try again. And when I went to Coruscant, I simply hadn’t had the time to pursue anything that wasn’t directly related to my studies–not if I wanted to be the very best. And I was. I had graduated top of my class, and I had been chosen by Lady Lilandra as her personal assistant before I even finished my studies. Sex was something that I had pushed back, with the vague intention of exploring once I had all my ducks in a row.

I was proud of myself, of what I did, of how much control I could exercise over my own needs. I felt more adult than anyone else. I felt stronger, smarter, _better_.

And now, there I was. Stranded on an alien planet, with my emotions, my needs, out in the open for that insufferable pilot to pick aside.

Because I _needed_. For the first time in years, for the first time since I called myself an adult, I needed. Just as I had before, as I clutched Poe’s waist and hid my face against his back. I needed a contact, I needed the touch of skin on skin. I _needed_ , and the simple awareness of such need shamed me.

In another place, in another time, I would have had no qualms about acquiring what I wanted. But _that_ , that was a loss of control. It was a bad handling of business. It was degrading. Allowing a situation to escalate like that… it was beyond mortifying.

But I _needed_ , and I was incapable of pushing it back. I was incapable of silencing it. I needed to touch, to feel grounded, somehow. To feel real and not lost in the spiralling darkness. To feel alive. I needed to strangle the intolerable vulnerability that I had felt as we were hunted like animals. I needed control. And I couldn’t stand the need anymore.

The conversation had died out, after that silly exchange. I was too busy mulling over my private feelings to find a more neutral topic of conversation, and Poe didn’t seem particularly keen on chatting either. He looked lost in his thoughts, and slightly embarrassed, if the careful way in which he was avoiding to look at me was anything to go by.

«We shouldn’t both be sleeping - he said eventually, as we put the still half-full boxes back in the speeder’s compartment - I’ll take the first shift.»

«No. I will.» I shrugged, at his surprised glance. «It is only fair. I was asleep during most of the afternoon.»

I didn’t feel particularly sleepy, either. I had been lucky, during our trip–exhaustion had taken me down like a box full of bricks, and I had dreamt of nothing, thought of nothing, as I let the scent and warmth of Poe’s skin work as a lifeline in soothing darkness.

But the exhaustion was gone, now, and a nagging restlessness had taken its place. I didn’t want to lie down and dream about the Stormtroopers aiming at my naked back, about the mountain crashing on our defenceless heads. I didn’t want to think about oncoming death.

The pull of his skin was stronger, now, as if recognizing my need had given it power. I could feel it, as sharp as a needle, and fighting it was taking most of my focus.

If I lay down to sleep, I had no idea what my mind would conjure up. It was safer that way.

Poe hesitated at the suggestion, but eventually nodded his agreement. He made no move to lie down on the cold ground, however. He sat down beside me, legs extended in front of his body, and leaned back, bracing himself on stretched arms. He was staring into the darkness.

«It is warm, here» I observed, after a while. It felt silly to sit in silence, staring at the still shadows. «We are deep inside a mountain range. I thought it was supposed to be cold.»

Poe shrugged minutely.

«It was, for a while, while you were sleeping - he replied - But here we’re close to a hot spring. That’s why the water coming out of the wall is warm.»

I hummed. I was acutely conscious of his presence, in a way that seemed to prick into my skin as keen and razor-edged as a blade.

«Your spy knows this place well.»

I knew it was impossible, we weren’t that close, but I could have sworn I could feel the warmth coming off his body. Through the clothes and the distance. I was sitting on my heels, with my hands properly folded in my lap, and I could feel the phantom touch of his fingers over my face.

«He does.»

The need was like a stab, deep and sharp and violent. It had teeth to bite, and claws to rend.

I wanted to touch, to clutch, to grab. I wanted to hold. I wanted some modicum of control, over _something_ , anything. I wanted to feel like myself again.

«Poe…»

«Yes?» he replied, so quickly that I was almost taken aback.

It took me a moment to realise that _something_ had been brewing, over the past few minutes. I had been too concentrated on my own need to perceive it, but now that I recognized its existence, I could think about nothing else.

It felt electric, like a storm building up. I could taste the thunder on my tongue, and I shivered at the discharge.

«Do you have... someone, back home?» I asked, because I _had_ to know. It was none of my business, but I had to know.

«I have my squadrons, at the base» Poe answered, with a little shrug.

I frowned at the lack of answer.

«You know what I mean.»

«Yes - he replied, eyes still lost in the deep darkness - And that’s my answer. My squadrons are my family. It’s the only relationship I’ve had for a long, long time.»

I needed. There was nothing else in my mind.

I was lost, unmoored. Alone. My control was gone, and with it every piece of myself that I held dear.

«Poe...»

«Yes» he said, for the third time, and I wondered if every _yes_ had meant the same thing. He turned to look at me, and I stared at dark, burning eyes, boring into mine. «Yes, to anything you need.»

There was nothing more to say. Shadows were playing over his expressive face, cuts and bruises fading in and out of existence at every bending of his head.

I reached up, brushing the stubble darkening his jaw. It was rough, as tangible as the ground we were sitting on. I heard the hitching of his breath, but Poe didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just sat stock still as I touched his face.

He was impossible to fathom, incomprehensible to me. Maybe, I thought, maybe this was how I could finally understand him. Through touch, like a blind man.

My fingers skated up, in a slow, methodical exploration. I brushed his cheekbone, grazed the black sideburn trailing down his temple. I avoided a dark bruise, and traced the curve of an eyebrow. I swept a thumb over his forehead, and I felt the warmth of his shallow breath on the delicate skin of my wrist like an earthquake, deep inside my bones. I curled a lock of black hair around my finger, and it felt as smooth as silk, softer than I thought it would. I tugged slightly, and let it go, watching as it curled back in place.

I followed with a delicate touch the ridge of his nose, where the skin was strangely smooth. I felt a bump there, where the bone had been broken and put back together, and I wondered if he would tell me about it, one day. I had forgotten that we had no days, nor times. There was no other reality than the one in which I was stroking his skin.

I felt the warm of his breath on my fingers as I reached down, grazing his lips. They were chapped, dry to the touch. I pressed my thumb against his lower lip, and Poe went with it, letting me push his mouth open, lips slightly ajar, teeth peeking out.

I looked up. Poe was staring at me with eyes so huge and so dark it felt as though the void was trying to swallow me whole. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated to break the spell.

We were lost in a darkness so thick it felt as though there was nothing left in the entire galaxy, and we were drifting together through outer space. But I wasn’t afraid. I had something to hold onto, something concrete, something that I could touch and grasp in my fist. Skin and flesh and blood.

His breath was coming faster, now, hitting the sensitive tip of my thumb, still pressed against his open mouth. He was straining against it, straining against his self-imposed stillness. I could feel it in his bones, reverberating along my body through that simple point of contact.

He needed this. The thought hit me like a slap in the face. He needed the touch, needed the contact. And his need, so sharp and so blatant, dulled my own, blunting my intolerable shame.

I lowered my thumb, letting it rest snugly in the sweet dip under his lower lip, as I stretched up. His eyes were still open, when I pressed a slow, chaste kiss over his open mouth.

It felt different, this time. It had been so long that I had almost forgotten the feeling, but I didn’t remember a mouth yielding so deliciously against mine, or anything as sweet as the little murmuring sound that escaped his throat as I sucked lightly on his lower lip.

My head was spinning, as I kissed him again, and again, and again, each kiss slower and slower, dragging on the sweet catching of his lower lip that closed every little touch.

I waited for his eyes to flutter shut, before pushing my tongue between his open, wet lips.

As though that was everything he was waiting for, as though the soft sliding of my tongue against his own had been a signal blasting in the silence, Poe reached up and wrapped his strong arms around me, pinning me against his chest in a hold so tight it almost hurt. His grasp had dislodged me from my crisp, composed sitting stance, but I didn’t care anymore–I widened my knees to get better balance and locked my arms around his neck, pushing close, pushing _in_.

What had started as a lazy, languid kiss was rapidly melting into something electric, frantic and exhilarating, like the blinding discharge of a lightning. I could feel it in my blood, threading through nerve endings as alive as exposed cables, sparks of power dancing over tingling skin. I wanted to be close to him in a way that was ruthless and brutal, rapacious as a bird of prey, unrestrained in its need to dig into his flesh until there was no skin left to define our perimeters, but only blood and electric current holding us together. I wanted to sink into him deep enough to disappear, and I wanted to devour him so completely that there would be no Poe Dameron left.

It was a messy kiss, appraised whatever was left of myself. I barely knew what I was doing, and there was no coordination to it, no skill–only blind touches, the pressing of tongues and the sloppy ravaging of each other’s mouths. I could feel spit dribbling down my chin, and it was disgusting, and thrilling, and Poe groaned into my mouth as I bit down on his lower lip hard enough to sting. He kissed me again, then, frenzied and unrestrained, unwittingly pressing against me with such an unchecked, delirious strength that I felt myself bend backwards under the sheer force of it.

 _Closer._ And _closer._ And _closer_.

I could feel the rabid snarl of shared need ricochet between our bodies like a blast between plasteel walls, and Poe moaned again as I licked into his mouth and sucked on his tongue. I could feel the hard planes of his body pressed almost painfully against my front, the constricting firmness of his arms wound up around my flanks, his wide hands splayed behind my back. I pushed a hand into his hair, and I felt its soft texture against the palm, the curling of the ink-black locks through my fingers.

Poe pulled back with a low sound, something between a gasp and a murmur, to draw in some frantic, wet breaths. I framed his face between my hands and peered into his eyes, huge and dark and all-consuming.

«Anything?» I panted, studying him closely enough to catch a fleeting frown marring his forehead. He looked too lost to understand, so I repeated, trying to keep my voice as steady as I could: «Anything I need?»

His eyes were flickering all over my face, as if he was trying to make out which trap he was throwing himself into. But there was only one possible answer, and it almost tripped out of his mouth as he stared straight into my eyes.

«Yes. Anything.»

I studied his face for a moment longer, before nodding, more to myself than for his benefit. His tanned skin gave nothing away, but his lips looked wet and raw, and his hair was tumbling everywhere, even messier than usual. There was a wild look into his eyes, and I delighted in it.

Just as that, I knew what to do. I understood the nature of my hunger as I relished in his unbridled need, his utter lack of control, drinking it in like a starving man. I felt my thirst for it like an animal scream, howling its insatiable yearning from the back of my mind.

I wanted the contact, I wanted the touch, and I wanted the pleasure. But what I _needed_ , what was digging its claws inside my body like a raging beast, was _control_. And if Poe was so kind to offer it to me with desperate eyes, I wasn’t going to refuse.

«Let me go, then» I demanded, eyes trained on his own and hands still cupping his handsome face. «And do not touch me, unless I ask you to.»

It took him longer than I thought to comply. For a single, still moment, he just stared at me with something between hurt and confusion, before slowly, unwillingly loosening his grip over my body. I straightened myself up, rewarding him with a soft, lingering kiss. I almost expected him to try and deepen it, but whatever he had read on my face, had made him utterly still in my hands.

The thrill of having him like that, yielding and compliant beneath my palms, skated down my spine as a thunderbolt. I kissed him again, slow and intimate, reaching for his shirt and sneaking my hands underneath.

The touch of my fingers against bare skin punched a groan out of his mouth. I stilled, not knowing if I had unwittingly pressed my palms against a scratch or a bruise, but it didn’t seem a complaint–the hands he had obediently lowered to the ground fluttered for a second at the contact, but stayed where they were. I hummed my approval against his mouth, peppering close-mouthed kisses all over his lips, as I explored the hot, lovely skin of his belly. It was incredibly smooth, mostly taut over hard flesh, but softer in places, with a thin trail of hairs trickling down his navel and dipping into his trouser. They tickled my fingers, with a touch that was intolerably vile, and intimate, and thrilling.

 _Savage_ , my mind supplied, in a biting whisper. Poe mumbled against my closed mouth, as I followed the soft trail down to his belt. _A loud savage_. I let my thumb play with his belly button, wondering idly how much louder he could become.

As to prove that particular point, Poe grumbled in disappointment when I pushed myself away. He was staring at me with half-lidded eyes, drawing in unsteady breaths. His lips looked swollen from kisses.

Taking off his shirt required more manoeuvring than I had considered, as we carefully pushed the rolled sleeve down his banged-up arm. Poe hissed at the scratching of cloth against injured skin, but didn’t complain, and with the shirt gone he was left half-naked in the dim light, open to my curious gaze. His chest looked strong and stocky, but curiously hairless, given his furry forearms and the black trail spilling from his navel. The tanned skin was marred by a constellation of scratch and bruises, and I frowned at taking them in.

«You are more damaged than I thought» I remarked, brushing delicately the tip of my fingers over a purple spot spreading along his ribs. Poe hissed at the touch, but the sound quickly turned into an amused chuckle.

«You saying I’m in poor conditions? - he grinned, as I grazed his stomach - Were you planning to sell me off?»

I hummed, pushing down the loose skin of his navel with the tip of my finger and stroking with something akin to fascination the soft black hairs. I should have been disgusted, and a part of me was exactly that–but I was curious, too. They were such an indecent thing to see, to feel. Softer than I thought they would be, and not utterly unpleasant to the touch. And so, so _filthy_. Delightfully obscene.

«Maybe I could buy a decent pilot out of you.»

Poe scoffed at my outraging jab.

«And what would you have me do? - he asked, fighting to keep some semblance of focus as I trailed my hands up his flanks - Dig through the mines of a forsaken planet? That would be a waste of my talent.»

«What talent? Crashing transports?» I bit back, reaching up to his chest and tracing the line of his pecs. They weren’t particularly developed, but they were lean and firm to the touch, with small, dark nipples. I thumbed them, feeling the skin pebble under my touch. Poe shivered under my hands, swallowing a groan.

I was right, then. He _was_ a loud one.

«I have other talents, you know» Poe grumbled, blatantly fighting the need to touch me back. His hands were trembling with it.

I hummed again, pressing my thumbs over his nipples, drawing tight circles around the raised skin. I spanned my hands over his ribs, mindful of the bruises, but Poe didn’t seem to care either way. He was breathing hard, struggling to keep still. I wondered if anyone had ever even demanded that of him before.

«Maybe I could sell you as a pleasure slave - I whispered, bending over to press a kiss to the defenceless hollow of his throat, between the hard ridges of his clavicles - Leave you chained to a bed as I flew out of here.»

Poe perked up at that.

« _Your_ bed?» he asked, sly and not a little hopeful, and I laughed against his skin.

«My, my. Aren’t you presumptuous, for a slave?» I purred, licking the hollow of his throat up to his chin. I could taste his skin–the salt of his sweat and something else, something that I could only define as _Poe_. It was intoxicating. I nipped at his jaw, before moving down to his chest.

The moan that Poe let out, as I sucked one of his dark nipples into my mouth, echoed through the silent cave like the stuttering of an engine. The skin was soft at the tip, and rough where raised so taut that it felt as unyielding as rubber between my lips. I used my tongue to roll the peaked nipple against my teeth, and Poe bent slightly over my head, panting almost in my hair.

«You said you never done this before?» he gasped, disbelief obvious in his voice.

I scoffed against his skin, not even bothering to draw back to answer.

«People talk about sex all the time, it would be difficult _not_ to pick up a thing or two. And I am barely biting your nipples. I would not consider that a skill that required advanced studies.»

«Chandrilans, I swear» Poe bit out, and I vaguely made a point to ask him what he had learnt about my planet, during his stay. But that was not the time.

I was enjoying myself, I realised, as I sucked on his sensitive nipple and rubbed my thumb against the other. I delighted in the taste of his skin in my mouth, in the feeling of his supple body under my hands. Taste and scent and touch–a sensory overload that pleasantly distracted my ever-churning mind, all wound up together to reach inside my flesh, deep enough to draw blood. And above all, above the crude, delicious  carnality of it, the power–the absolute, unmerciful power that I yielded over him.

That was the control I needed, the control that had been taken from me, the control that I craved. The capability to make him bend, to make him tremble under my hands. The ability to make him _feel_ , playing his body like an exquisite instrument. The unthinkable power of giving pleasure.

I _craved_ it, and it was intoxicating.

I pulled back, enjoying the strong lines of his body, as I touched his banged-up shoulders and bruised arms. Even the soft black hairs that covered his forearms gave me a thrill. _Barbaric_.

«Why do I feel like you’re about to give me a grade?» Poe joked, but there was something vaguely uncertain underneath. His chest moved under my hand, following his shallow breathing.

I shrugged.

«You are a handsome man. Do not pretend you do not know it.»

Whatever he was about to reply got lost into a chocked groan, as I slid down a hand and let my fingers ghost over his clothed cock. It looked hard, or half-hard -I didn’t have enough experience to tell -, but the bulging of engorged flesh was impossible to mistake. I palmed it, and I was surprised at how firm it felt beneath my hand, and how hot, even through the layers of clothes. It stirred under my touch, a light twitch.

« _Helana_ » Poe hissed, clutching at his own spread thighs to keep his hands still. I started when I heard my name, but there was such a desperate need threaded into the sound, such an unshackled emotion, that I felt it tumble along my spine like a shiver.

«How do you like it, Poe? - I whispered, hand still against his fevered flesh - Harder?»

His voice was broken, as it came stumbling out of his mouth.

«Anything, Hel» he pleaded, and I felt a strange, incomprehensible spark roll along my skin at what should have felt like an intolerable familiarity. «Fuck, harder, yes.»

I filed the odd feeling for a later evaluation, and I pressed down harder on his firm flesh. I glanced up, and took in his face. Poe looked _wrecked_. There was a deep furrow etched between his eyebrows, and teeth sunk in his wet, swollen lower lip. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, dark irises just slivers between thick lashes. Sweat was gathering on his temples, shining golden at the light projected by the speeder.

Carefully, evaluating every single response, I pressed my palm up, then down, massaging the hard flesh. Poe keened at the touch, and yanked at his own trousers, panting through gritted teeth. I kept my motion regular, smoothing out the edges through sheer repetition, until I felt I mastered the touch enough to move onto the next.

Poe groaned, loud and unreserved, when I slackened my grasp, but his eyes were wide and piercing as I went for his belt. I spared him a look, but since I heard no complaints, I just loosened it up and opened his trousers.

The bulge of his cock seemed even more obvious, through the thin layer of his slate grey underwear. Poe let out a hiss as I trailed my fingers over its still covered length, straight up to the point in which the head disappeared under the crotch of his trousers.

«I think I am going to need your assistance, for this.» The words had barely left my mouth that Poe was already lifting his hips and yanking down trousers and underwear in one go, enough to free his cock.

«That was… eager» I chuckled under my breath, as I looked at the hard cock nestled between his legs, just beneath an unruly patch of ink-black wiry hairs. The head had slapped against his taut belly the moment it was free from the cage of his trousers, and the length of it seemed thick and hard as stone, with a single engorged vein crawling from base to crown. The glans was red and swollen, and the testicles looked ridiculously soft, with dark hairs framing paper-thin skin. Such an unseemly sight. My hands were trembling with the need to _feel_.

«Hel. Fuck, _Hel_ , touch me. Touch me. _Please_.»

The pleading shot straight into my belly, embedding itself deeply into my skin. Poe looked too far gone to care, even if I had barely touched him. Welding so much power was electrifying.

I pressed against the thick base, and Poe bit back a moan, as I stroked up to the tip. The skin was surprisingly smooth, stretched over hard flesh, and the engorged vein barely gave way under the push of my fingers. The head felt spongy and wet, as I wrapped my hand under the glans and curiously pressed my thumb straight into the slit.

The groan that slipped from Poe’s mouth was loud and unrestrained. It sounded almost pained, but he was panting so noisily that it would have been impossible to mistake it for anything different than what it was–a desperate plea for more.

«I want to know what you like, Poe» I whispered, cradling his length in my palm and searching for his eyes, hidden beneath heavy lids. «Take my hand, Poe. Show me.»

He seemed to struggle to understand, staring at me as though I was speaking in an alien tongue, so I peeled his hand off his trousers and wrapped it around my own.

«Show me» I repeated, not bothering to soften what was for all intents and purposes a command. «Pleasure yourself. _Show me_.»

Poe blinked at me, once, twice, before tightening his grip around my hand. I memorized the pressure, filing away the information as I stored away everything else.

«You’re gonna kill me» he groaned back, but I heard no other complain as he pushed my hand down his length until I felt the brushing of thick curls, and then up to the head, dragging up loose foreskin until it engulfed the spongy head.

I stared down at our entwined hands, and it felt strange to see how small and pale mine looked, encompassed as it was by his own. His palm was broader, his skin sunburnt, but his fingers were slightly shorter, if thicker than mine, and I could see my own peek through, slender and white against his dark cock. Poe occasionally swept his thumb over the head at the upstrokes, and I committed to memory the little twists he gave with his wrist, the rhythm and the intensity of the strokes, cataloguing his reactions.

I blinked, as his cock pulsed and thickened within my fist. It was such a strange thing to witness. The hard flesh enclosed in my hand was a very visible, very exposed part of Poe’s body, and the idea that he could have such a ridiculous amount of control over it felt… degrading. An intolerable vulnerability, obviously shared by half of the human race, and more than that–a tangible gauge of the inner working of their bodies, an exposed datascreen that could be read at will. An easy mean of control, too.

The concept was fascinating.

Poe was panting, by the time his strokes had sped up to a frantic beat. His head was bent forward, his eyes were trained on our entwined hands, and a string of steady moans was falling from his lips.

After a short consideration, I decided that it was the right moment to push forward.

«That would be quite enough» I said, stilling my motion. I frowned, as Poe didn’t seem to catch up immediately on the meaning of my words, and went on with his frantic strokes. «Poe - I called him, voice sharp and biting - Let me go.»

The look I received for my troubles was a stunned one, disbelieving and skirting on desperate.

«What’s wrong?» he gasped, trying to steady his breath. He had freed my hand, though, so I rewarded him with a little close-mouthed kiss on his abused lips. I felt the stuttering of his warm breath on my face, as I pulled away.

«Nothing is wrong.» I smirked, as I pushed him back just enough to straddle his thighs. Poe stared at me with dark eyes, huge in the half-light, and reflexively licked his lips. «Lean back and brace yourself, Commander.»

Poe let out a breathless chuckle at my quip, but obeyed, propping himself up on trembling arms.

There was no denying it–he was gorgeous, splayed out as he was for my own pleasure. His stocky shoulders looked thicker like that, collarbones rising up to break the perfect line of the muscles, wiry black hairs peeking out from under his armpits. _Savage, beastly thing_! The warm air of the cave felt stifling hot, all of a sudden, as though the little space between our bodies was caging and amplifying the heath put off by our skins.

I reached down, wrapping my hand once again around his hard cock. The soft, laboured gasp that escaped his lips danced like a spark over my skin, as I adjusted my grasp to apply the right amount of pressure, and then I was stroking his entire length, slowly and smoothly, studying with fascinated focus the dragging of loose foreskin over hot, slightly curved flesh.

Poe threw back his head at the upstroke, moaning softly at the dragging of skin over skin, and when I swept my thumb over the wet slit I saw -I _felt_ \- his body tense up, back bowing and muscles working uselessly along his straining neck. I watched, mesmerized, as a single vein bulged up under his tanned skin, tracing a lightning-quick path from under his jaw to the sweet hollow of his throat.

«Please, Hel, _please_ » Poe begged, hips stuttering in an aborted attempt at a shallow thrust, and cock jerking in the tight circle of my fingers. He looked crazed, shivers raking his tanned front from collarbones to hipbones, tense muscles twitching under smooth skin. His abs tightened up as he forced himself to lie there, perfectly still, sweat dribbling into his heavy-lidded eyes.

I wouldn’t have minded looking at him again–perhaps outside, where the sunlight would have showered his skin in gold. I could feel the firmness and heath of his legs between my thighs, hard flesh grazing that vulnerable spot where I was tight and wet and overly sensitive. I twisted my wrist on the upstroke, and Poe let go a shuddering moan that travelled like shrapnel under my skin.

I picked up the pace, slowly working up to a rhythm closer and closer to the frantic beat he had used to bring himself near climax. He was gasping now, broken moans spilling like a fountain from his lips, as his trembling arms struggled to keep him upright and cuts and bruises looked even darker over bunching muscles. His face was pinched, eyes squeezed shut and thick dark brows drawn in a frown, but his jaw was slack and his lips open and wet, tongue peeking out as his chin hovered above his chest. His black hair was tumbling everywhere, hanging on his temples and his forehead, skin glistening with sweat.

I could feel something brew, deep inside me, wet and hot and low, as though my skin was soaking up the heat and hunger of his trembling flesh and spreading it between my thighs. There was a thread-like, winding need to push down against his leg, pressing my aching flesh against his firm thigh and riding it with the same tortuous rhythm with which my hand was pulling and twisting along the overheated length of his cock. My heart was pounding inside my chest, quick and rabid and _alive_.

I was still familiarizing myself with the motion, finding the best way to keep the stroking smooth and even, when his body seized up. I felt his legs tense between my thighs, joints locking and muscles clenching under his skin, as he bowed his back and groaned deep and broken in the silent cave. His hips thrust up, fucking into my grip once, twice, and then he was coming, shooting thick ribbons of white come all over his tight belly.

His jerking thrusts had been so sudden, and he had put so much raw force behind them, that he almost dislodged me from my prized position. I settled more firmly on his thighs, and rode through his thrusts like I would through a hurricane, knees digging in the packed earth and free hand clutching at his shoulder for balance. I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I was too distracted, too completely absorbed with his drawn, slightly lost expression to give it much thought, so I simply went on with my stroking, wringing a string of shudders from Poe as I pulled at his twitching cock.

Eventually, the touch became too much, and with a pained grunt Poe grabbed my wrist.

«That’s enough» he mumbled, still gasping for breath. I let him go, watching almost dreamily the shivers raking through his frame, the tensing and loosening of muscles under glistening skin. A thick rope of come had landed just beneath his breastbone, and I could do nothing but stare as it slowly dripped along his belly, mingling with what was pooling over the wiry black hairs framing his softening cock.

That picture, for some reason, dragged me out of my reverie. I shook my head slightly, trying to clear my mind enough to do something useful with myself, instead of staring at his half-naked, heaving body as if bewitched.

«Where did you hide that rag of yours?» I asked, unsure of what to do with my hands now that I got what I wanted. I had no idea what was to come next–what I was supposed to say, or do. It was strange how no one really talked about that–everything happening after sex disregarded as a thing of no consequence. It didn’t feel unimportant to me, and I disliked having no clue about the expected behaviour.

«What?» Poe asked, sounding lost and still out of breath. He blinked, taking my face in with a confused, frowning expression.

«Your rag. You are filthy.»

He let out a gasping chuckle, as he lifted his hand to brush my jaw with slightly trembling fingers.

«And who’s to blame for that, huh?» he grinned, before letting his hand fall back on the ground. «It’s near the spring, drying on a rock. I tried to clean it up a bit.»

There was something in his smile–something foreign, and slightly charged. I didn’t know what it was, but I didn’t particularly care for it.

I jumped on my feet, wincing in my mind at the jerky, ungraceful motion, and I went to retrieve the abused piece of cloth. It was exactly where Poe had said it would be, still damp, even if it didn’t look particularly clean. I stuck it under the warm spray of the spring to make it properly wet, and brought it back.

Poe was still where I had left him, leaning on his straining arms as his breath slowly normalized. He smiled warmly at me, as I kneeled by his side, but he made no motion to take the cloth from me. I wasn’t sure if he expected me to wipe him down or if he was simply curious to see what I would do, but I didn’t appreciate either option.

«Do you want me to clean you up?» I asked, somewhat brusquely, staring with distaste at the thick white mess drying on his tanned skin. It should have been disgusting, and it was, but it was also something else. My body felt strangely taut, as though my skin was stretched so tight over my flesh that it could burst at any second. The pulsing need between my thighs, at least, seemed abated, now that I wasn’t actively touching him anymore.

Poe was peering at my face with a curious, searching expression. He still had that soft smile stitched on his full lips, and they looked obscenely red and wet as he blinked owlishly at me.

«If you want to - he eventually replied, stretching ever so slightly, like a cat in the sun - But you don’t have to.»

I frowned, feeling incredibly silly as I stared at the come spattered on his belly with a drenched rag clutched in my hand.

«It is… customary, though. Isn’t it? Between lovers?»

His face did something else, something complicated. He looked at my lips, before moving back to my eyes.

«That’s what we are? Lovers?»

There was something, in his voice, that I couldn’t understand at all.

I scoffed under my breath. That was getting overly complicated, for something so ridiculously simple. I bent over, and his cock gave a half-hearted twitch as I carefully swiped the wet cloth over his belly.

«Haven’t we just had sex?» I snapped back. He wanted something from me, that much was obvious, but I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t understand any of his signals.

As far as I was concerned, that was enough. He had offered, and I had taken what he was willing to give–I felt in control again, I felt _myself_ again, and he got off for his troubles. What was happening now was… confusing, and unnecessary.

Poe laughed softly, low in his throat. His breath was back to normal, but he didn’t seem particularly eager to move. He looked perfectly happy and at ease where he was, half-reclined on the dirty soil as I cleaned him up with a wet, equally dirty rag. He hummed under his breath as I reached his crotch, wiping the last strands of come from the wiry black hairs that nested his soft cock.

«That was barely a preview - he grinned, as he traced with idle fingers the shape of my thigh - Can I touch you, now?»

I froze. He hadn’t known what he was offering–hadn’t know what I had wanted, what I had needed. He thought that we were just beginning, when, in truth, we were already done.

I drew back from his touch, pulling myself to my feet again. I stared at him from above, as Poe looked up at my face with a confused, if still smiling expression.

«Tomorrow is going to be a long day. You should get some sleep.» I looked away, as his face crumbled. I was doing something wrong, and I didn’t even know what. «This was supposed to be my shift, after all.»

There was something that looked like _hurt_ in his face, but I didn’t know what to say, how to behave. I was out of my depth and I didn’t know how to be close to another human being. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.

And Poe, Poe didn’t _understand_. He wanted me to let go, to enjoy his touch in a filthy cave after I had almost died, to give him the control I had so painfully just taken back. I couldn’t, and I didn’t know how to explain that to him. I didn’t know how to tell him that I had wrung an orgasm out of him because it was the only thing I could manage to gain right then and there, the only fruitful action I felt myself able to carry out. I was helpless, far away from everything I knew and unable to take care of myself or do anything of consequence, but I had power over _him_ , the raw power of making him come, and I had used it to make order out of chaos.

I had no words to make that simple reality less sterile. So I said nothing.

«Yeah, I think you’re right» Poe replied, after a long stretch of silence. He looked away, tucking himself back in his trouser, and I went to wash the filthy rag once more, together with my hands. When I came back, Poe was curled up on his side, asleep or pretending to be, so I settled down by the speeder, and kept watch.

Time seemed to drag itself forward like a drunken Hosnian sandsnail, as I sat there in silence. There was nothing to do, no preparations to make, no plans to outline, so I just waited, staring at the thick darkness of the cave as I listened to the soft murmuring of the spring behind my back.

I saw Poe stir, a couple of times, but he never said a word, and never turned in my direction. I could only stare at his back, covered once again by his filthy shirt, and at the banged-up arm that he kept protectively curled against his chest. He had stuck his blaster once again in the back of his trousers, and I could see the black handle pocking out from his belt, pressing the once sky-blue fabric of the shirt against his skin.

We hadn’t really talked about the length of our shifts, but I guessed that since the rendezvous was supposed to be in a little more than nine hours, each of us could sleep half that time. I didn’t care much for my share–I didn’t particularly yearn to sleep on the filthy ground of a cave, and I really didn’t want to know what nightmares my brain would concoct. That terrible chase through the narrow corridors of the mine was still very fresh and vivid in my mind, and I could still hear the trembling of the mountain over our heads, the smell and the taste of the soil as it crumbled on us. I could still feel the crushing clutch of death on my shoulders, whenever I closed my eyes.

As loathe as I was to lay myself down to sleep, however, after six hours of silent vigil in the empty cave I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I had taken advantage of Poe’s deep sleep to relieve my bladder without the humiliation of being seeing or heard, since I couldn’t hide in the tall grass of the savannah like I had done in the morning, and walking the short distance to the furthest corner of the cave that the light of the speeder could reach had helped some–but I could only procrastinate so far. I wasn’t going to be all that useful much longer, and there was no point in a guard falling asleep at her post.

With a resigned sigh, I pulled myself up on my feet and covered the few steps that separated me from Poe’s curled up shape.

I kneeled at his side, and I had barely brushed his shoulder that Poe’s eyes sprung wide open. There was no trace of the grogginess I had seen the morning before, as he dragged himself out of his room. He went from deep sleep to perfect alertness in a split of a second, and as he shifted under my hand I realised that his fingers were already wrapped around the handle of his blaster.

«Hel? Everything alright?» he whispered, pushing an elbow under his frame and propping himself up.

My hand lingered for a second on his shoulder, before slipping off.

«Three hours before rendezvous. I need to sleep.»

Poe blinked in the dim light, and then half-turned to look at me.

«Three hours? How long have I slept? Why didn’t you wake me up?»

«About six hours - I replied, with a little shrug - I wasn’t really tired.»

 _I didn’t really want to sleep_ , was the truth–and as Poe’s piercing eyes bore into mine, I realised that he had heard it as clearly as if I had spoken it out loud. There was something painfully tentative in the way he raised his banged-up arm, letting go of the blaster to brush his fingers against my cheek. I allowed the touch, but I didn’t lean into it, and eventually Poe let his hand fall back on his thigh.

«Get some sleep - he said, pushing himself upright - I’ll wake you up one hour before rendezvous.»

I nodded, sitting down by his side. I was so close that I could hear his breathing, the rustling of his clothes–but Poe didn’t move away, and I just couldn’t bring myself to find an isolated spot to lay down in the darkness, alone and utterly helpless.

«Thank you» I replied, and I meant it. The last thing I wanted was to be coddled, like a pathetic, useless thing.

_Thank you for seeing my shame, my weakness, and not using it against me._

Poe just shrugged, raising up his knees and resting his arms on them.

«Sleep» he repeated, but there was a touch of softness to his words. I laid myself down on the rocky, uncomfortable ground, turning my back on him as I curled up on one side, but I could feel him anyway–a silent, warm presence watching over me. I closed my eyes, and fell asleep.

I did not dream.


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I know it took me a while, but it's a pretty long segment, so I hope it will make up for the wait :) I also hope you will like this part, since Leia finally shows up and I was inordinately happy to write about her. She's one of my absolute favourites and I love her very much.
> 
> On a side note: I’ve left Tumblr, but you can find me on Twitter ( [Come to say hi!](https://twitter.com/nekhen2/) ). As usual, I’m not going to be particularly active, but since Twitter seems to be more immediate than Tumblr, I might actually use it more. So, if you’d like to get news about my stories every now and then, feel free to give it a look.
> 
> We are approaching the end, by the way! Enjoy, folks!

I woke to the touch of a hand on my shoulder, delicate and strangely tentative.

I experienced a brief burst of disorientation, as Poe’s bruised face came into focus. It was truly black-and-blue now, I thought vaguely, even with a day-worth stubble covering his cheeks and chin. His hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment, before slipping away.

«Almost time» he said, voice soft and hushed. «Thought you might wanna eat something, before we go.»

I barely refrained from scrubbing a hand over my face, as I fought back the grogginess. I propped myself up on my elbows.

«I need to wash my face first» I mumbled, barely awake, but already uncomfortably aware of the one-day-old make-up gluing my lashes together. I felt unbelievably tired, as though I hadn’t slept in years, but an odd restlessness was starting to creep through.

I was perfectly alert, by the time I had sprinkled warm water all over my face. I could do nothing for my certainly ruined make-up, aside avoiding messing it up even more, and without a mirror I had no idea about the real state of my face. No one but Poe and his spy were going to witness that particular disgrace–but the thought that _anyone_ would get to see me in less than perfect conditions was intolerable.

After munching on a few cubes, more to take the horrible taste of sleep off my mouth than for real hunger, I climbed on our battered speeder and claimed my usual place. Sleeping on the hard ground had done nothing to chase the stiffness away from my abused body, or to improve the sorry state of my filthy clothes, but at least we were getting out of there. I didn’t even want to contemplate the possibility that the Draethos had been captured–the dreadful prospect of being left alone and marooned in that horrible place.

I had enough adventures to last for a lifetime, and I had seen more of the First Order than I cared to. It was time to go home, now–to go back to what I was used to, to what I was _trained_ for. I was tired of being scared, and I was tired of feeling useless.

We trudged through the last part of that nightmarish trip in the same silence we had shared during breakfast. Poe didn’t seem particularly keen on speaking, and I just wanted that horrible experience to end as soon as possible. I kept my hands steady on his sides, and a safe distance from his back.

The rendezvous point turned out to be a shallow cave, close to the outer side of the mountain range. My eyes had grown so used to the darkness, and the light coming from the outside had trickled in to such a degree, that it took me a little while to recognize that the soft glow of the speeder wasn’t the only thing brightening the corridor anymore, and that real sunshine was bouncing against the stone walls.

As the tunnel opened up into a wide cavern, lit by the blinding brightness of the sun, I realised that we had made it–we were almost free from that blasted mountain, where nothing was going to collapse straight over our heads, and where I would finally be able to _breathe_ again.

It seemed almost too good to be true, and a thin thread of apprehension snuck into my mind for a moment, settling low in the pit of my stomach. Then, the familiar shape of the Draethos came out of the shadows. At the bright sunlight filtering through, his purple skin looked almost translucent, scales shining like polished amethyst. His prominent teeth were of a surprising gleaming white, just like the bone dewclaws protruding from his elbows.

 ** _It is a joy to see you again, Friends._** The Draethos’ mental voice was just as warm as it had been the day before, and so obviously relieved that I almost felt sympathy for him. **_You escaped danger, imprisonment and sure death._**

My fledgling sympathy withered straight away. As if I had needed the reminder.

Poe didn’t seem to share my fastidiousness. I couldn’t see his face, seated behind him as I was, but I could _hear_ the smile in his voice.

«Yeah - Poe replied, approaching the Draethos on an idling speeder - It was a close call, though. Closer than I like.» The engine was expertly turned off a mere few inches from the Draethos. Poe’s shoulders sagged a little as he relaxed, resting his splayed hands on his thighs. «We’d better leave this place as soon as possible. I have a very long report to write to the General.»

 ** _I have already sent to your transport all the information I gathered_** , the Draethos assured us. **_And this is for you._**

He ruffled through his loose, ratty robe, producing a shiny piece of plasteel. He handed it to Poe, who stored it quickly in one of the speeder’s side compartments, close to the handlebars.

«We’re grateful, my friend. So very grateful. You sure there’s nothing else we can do for you?» Poe hesitated, voice dropping. «This place is dangerous. You could come with us.»

 ** _And who would keep watch over the Republic’s vulnerable borders?_** the Draethos replied, dangling his head as though he was shaking it ever so slightly. **_You are kind to offer, Friend Poe, but I need to stay._**

«But with that woman around, that Horned Conjurer of yours…»

**_She is gone._ **

Unexpected relief washed over me, as strong and all-compassing as a tide.

«Gone?» Poe asked, body tensing up. «Why? Giving up already?»

 ** _I do not know why._** The Draethos swayed his bald head again. He was wearing a metallic headdress right on the top of his elongated skull, and the motion made the little bell attached to it jingle. **_She has left her soldiers behind, however, and they are still looking for you. I do not think they have found your transport yet, but you could have troubles escaping the planet._**

That was clearly enough information for Poe. He bent over, ruffling through another compartment until he found our goggles.

«We’d better leave, then» he said, handing me a pair. «Thank you, my friend. I owe you, big deal. If you ever need anything, you only have to ask.»

**_Help the Republic. There is no one else._ **

«Will do» Poe promised, putting on his goggles. I followed his example, wincing as the elastic grazed the scabbed cut on my forehead. The hard plastic put pressure on some bruises I didn’t even know I had, but there was no shuffling around that lessened the discomfort, so I resigned to bear it in silence.

**_Farewell, Friends._ **

«Farewell, Nag- Ruh» Poe replied, turning on the speeder. «Be careful.»

«Farewell - I added, out of sheer politeness - And thank you for your help.»

The Draethos tilted his head in acknowledgment, stepping back as the speeder’s engine whirred back to life. We left his tall, lean shape behind, together with the stalactites hanging from the low ceiling of the cave and the nightmare of tunnels and narrow corridors that lurked just beyond.

After so many hours spent in complete darkness, the brightness of the morning sun was as blinding as the explosion of pure white light of a starship engine, dark goggles or not. I watched with something close to rapture the clear blue sky, and the kaleidoscope of colours of the boundless savannah. Tall yellow grass was enclosing us in a rustling embrace, and pure, unadulterated life was pressing on us from every side. The feeling of being _free_ once again, of being able to move in every direction and having nothing but the sky over my head, swirled through my body like a current. We were far from done yet, but at least we had left that horrid mountain behind, and I was thankful for every small miracle.

I was still basking in the sweet touch of sunbeams over my face, when Poe’s voice brought me back to the moment. He was bent over the handlebars, slowly gaining speed through the tall grass.

«Hold on tight - he cautioned me - We’re gonna rush through, this time.»

«Should I look forward to yet another spectacular crash?» I asked, wrapping my arms resignedly around his waist and pressing myself close to his back. I could detect the earthy smell of spring water on the back of his neck and hair, layered over the scent of his skin. It wasn’t utterly unpleasant, although we were both in dire need of a shower. Even a sonic shower would feel like a luxury, after a night spent sleeping on the dirty ground.

Poe snorted at my insult, and just like that we were back where we had started–as though that strange, uncomfortable night had never happened.

«We’re on the wrong side of the mountain range - he elaborated, as we speeded alongside the cresting hills - It’s gonna take us six hours to get back to our freighter, according to the speeder’s navigation system.»

 _If nothing else happens_ , I thought, but I kept it to myself. A defeatist mindset would bring us nowhere.

Against all my gloomy expectations, the journey back turned out to be suspiciously uneventful, to the point that I was actually surprised when I saw neither Stormtrooper nor enemy ship mulling about our forlorn freighter. Poe went at it with surprising caution, slowing down long before we ever reached the ship and scouting the ground in search for any sign of danger. But the savannah looked as unchanged and untouched by the hand of man as ever, and our freighter lonely and isolated in the perfect wilderness.

It seemed strange, climbing onto the ramp again. After the narrow tunnels of the mine and the crushing weight of the mountain pressing on from every side, the freighter didn’t feel that small anymore. I waited for the usual claustrophobic uneasiness to hit me again, but nothing came. The transport felt nothing more than what it was–a lump of plasteel and transparisteel, built to be used and manoeuvred and lived in. Something planned, constructed and artificial. Something easy to handle. Something _safe_.

It was a strange, foreign feeling, so dramatically unlike myself that I regarded it with suspicion. What was supposed to be a short, uneventful trip to the other side of the galaxy had turned out to be so much more–had turned out to be something able to _change_ me, and I didn’t like that thought at all. I hadn’t planned on anything so radical to take place, and I didn’t care much for such an unsettling and unplanned development. Just like everything else, I liked my moments of personal growth to be carefully prepared and painstakingly outlined, not for them simply to… _happen_ , like a banta chase on a backwater Outer Rim planet.

But something had come to pass in the last twenty-four hours, and I couldn’t refuse to acknowledge it. I would not hide my head under the sand, however unpleasant the situation. And if that displeasingly unplanned advancement was to bring an easier attitude towards space travel with it, I wasn’t surely going to let it go to waste. An advantage was always an advantage, whatever the circumstances.

I took off my goggles with a sigh of pure relief, as my bruised skin was finally able to breathe again. Poe stashed both pairs in their side compartment and brought the speeder back to the hangar, while I waited for him in the cockpit. He came back with the brand new injector in hand, and went to work straight away on the panels he had loosened up hours -years?- before.

I sat down in the co-pilot seat, brushing my fingers over the console. It seemed absurd to think that only a day had passed, since we crashed in that horrible place. It felt as though I had been stranded there for centuries, and I was now old beyond compare. The world had changed around me as I dashed through the dark corridors of the mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I would find on the other side–what faces I would see, and how Coruscant and Chandrila would look like. I had been desperate to go back to my old, familiar life, but there was a trickle of uneasiness now to that thought. Lady Lilandra, my Father, my ambassadorial duties–everything seemed so far away.

_Such foolish, useless thoughts._

That was _exactly_ why I hated impromptu personal growth. It always felt so… aimless. Intolerably so.

Poe’s voice interrupted that unpleasant moment of self-evaluation, and I welcomed the distraction.

«It should work now» he informed me. His voice held a little less certainty than I would have appreciated, and I arched a brow at that _should_. Poe replied with a theatrical, and utterly uncalled-for, eye-roll. «It _will_ work. Trust me.»

«As though I have any choice in the matter» I scoffed, fastening my seatbelt. My chest was still tender from the day before, and the strap dug painfully into my bruised skin.

Poe slid in the pilot’s chair with an easy grace, and did his best to hide his surprise, as he threw me a side-glance.

«You staying here for the taking off?» he asked, as he fastened his seatbelt as well. «I thought you didn’t like it. Thought you didn’t like ships.»

«I do not - I replied, staring at the dark shape of the trees rising right before the viewport - But I would rather know straight away if I am about to die. No point in wasting my last moments in a sonic shower, if we are going to explode as soon as we take off.»

«You’d rather spend your last moments with me, then? - Poe grinned, hitting an apparently random sequence of switches and buttons - I’m flattered.»

I forced myself not to tense up, as the freighter’s engine whirred back to life and the plasteel started to vibrate softly under my feet. Good to know that some things, at least, had not changed in the slightest.

«Your company is not utterly unpleasant» I replied, trying to divert myself as best as I could. Anything was better than wondering whether the ship I was currently on was about to blow up like a firework during the Festival of Liberation. «You have your moments.»

«You’re ever so kind» Poe grinned, as he pulled the tiller back. Slowly, painfully, the freighter lifted its ponderous bulk off the ground, engine whirring and trees shaking under the sheer strength of the gale generated by its thrusters.

It took everything I had not to close my eyes, to blot out the horrible picture of the ground slowly moving further and further away. The forest underneath us looked nothing more than a small thicket now, and the savannah a yellow expanse fading out into the distance. The blue of the sky, bright and all-compassing, was taking over the world.

«Look at that» murmured Poe, so low that I almost lost it, in the loud rambling of my scattered thoughts. «Look at that skyline. Nothing more beautiful than that. Earth and sky and everything in between.»

There was something far-off in his voice, something hushed and almost reverent. He was sitting motionless behind his console, quiet and slightly lost, staring at the horizon with the freighter hovering halfway between planet and outer space. There was such a look of wondrous awe in his face that for a moment he looked transfixed, and almost otherworldly, heartbreakingly beautiful. More beautiful than any skyline.

He loved that, I realised, right then and there. He didn’t just delight in his work–he _loved_ flying, with the soul-rending, savage passion someone else would have poured on their beloved. There was something akin to devotion into his eyes, and he was sharing it with me.

I didn’t know what to do, so I just looked, trying to soak up his unadulterated adoration and the exquisite beauty of that boundless horizon. Trying to see what he was seeing.

«It is - I whispered, loathe to break the moment - It is very beautiful.»

Poe smiled at that, a little, self-deprecating smile, and the moment was shattered. He turned to look at me with eyes that were almost sad.

«You can’t see it, can you?»

I felt guilty, all of a sudden, and I didn’t even know why. I shook my head.

«I can see that you love it. And I can understand why, to a point, but… I cannot feel what you feel. It is not in my nature.»

Poe pulled the till towards his chest, and the freighter tilted its muzzle towards the sky. The savannah disappeared underneath us–and so did the forest, and even the white peaks of the mountains. We plunged into the deep bright blue, plasteel whirring. I clutched the armrests of my seat, with a grasp so tight that my knuckles turned bone-white.

«You ain’t a pilot» Poe said, as though that simple fact explained everything.

He was right. I wasn’t.

«And you are not a diplomat.»

I could feel my heart in my throat, dread sparking along my spine as our trembling transport dashed upwards, trembling as the blue transitioned into utter darkness–the absolute blackness of outer space, with only a thin transparisteel viewport to separate us from certain death.

«Such different worlds–is that what you were aiming for?» Poe asked, as the trembling of the ship abated and we floated into space. The flawless darkness was spotted by handfuls of twinkling stars, and the sun of that system looked barely bigger than the rest.

«You did not need _me_ to tell you that» I replied, and I knew we were saying something to each other, something important, but I couldn’t understand what. Such a strange conversation to have–like a ciphered communication for which I had no code. «Is the First Order nearby?»

Poe shook his head.

«No. Nag-Ruh was right–they’re all gone. We’d better leave too.»

«Hyperspace?» I asked, feeling a new wave of dread pooling into my belly.

«Hyperspace» Poe answered, with a low chuckle. He pressed a few switches, hands flying over the console. «I’m gonna jump to the nearest Republic territory first. Can’t send any message from hyperspace, and the General will be wondering where the hell we ended up to.»

«This is the final test, then. To see if this… _thing_ can take us home.» I tried to keep as much scorn as possible from my voice, but if Poe’s scoff was anything to go by, I didn’t do a particularly good job at it.

«This _thing_ will take us wherever we want to go - he replied, as he grabbed a lever - Hold on, now.»

The stars flashed in streaks of blinding white, as Poe pulled the level. With a whooshing sound, we jumped into hyperspace. I held my breath when the ship started shaking all around us, as though trashed by a hurricane, but the plasteel held, and the noisy shudders slowly abated.

«You can breathe, now» Poe grinned, as he pressed another switch and turned towards me. «We made it. We’re alive.»

«We are still in one piece» I whispered, looking away from the viewport. The streaming white of the hyperspace was making me nauseous. «I can’t believe it.»

«You’re a hard one to please, you know that?» Poe scoffed, but there was a laugh hidden in his voice. «I brought you back without a scratch from the Unknown Territories and you _still_ have so little faith in me.»

«Not really without a scratch» I quipped back, unfastening my seatbelt and breathing a little more easily as the pressure was realised from the bruises striping my chest. Poe could say what he wanted, but I hadn’t come out exactly unscathed from our little adventure.

«Always complaining - Poe sighed, before landing such a leering smirk on me that I almost squirmed under its sheer heath - Should I kiss them better?»

I frowned, frozen again on the spot. I was used to flirting, if not to such _blatant_ flirting, but my usual response was a dismissal–gentle, if I was in the right mood, or brutal, if I wasn’t. Rejection came with ridiculous ease to me, but I was surprised to realise that I didn’t want to brush Poe off. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and it shocked me that I didn’t want to dismiss him either. But that, unfortunately, was the exact extent of my epiphany–knowing what I did not want didn’t bring me any closer to know what I _did_ want, and that left me with no clue about how to reply.

As I blinked at his still smiling, if slightly uncertain face, I realised that I could dismiss anyone with the outmost grace, if the occasion called for it, but I had no idea how to flirt back. I disliked that thought–something to correct presently.

As for now, I decided to go with honest, since I had no skills in that particular game.

«No one is allowed to touch me until I get a shower - I declared, rising up on my feet and looking away from his eager eyes - I am disgusting.»

Poe searched my face for a moment longer, then let go with a low sigh. He scrubbed a hand over his chin, rubbing his palm against the black stubble covering his skin up to his cheekbones.

«You’re right. I need to get cleaned up, too–and I need a shave.» He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes and pressing down. «I’ll get a shower as soon as I send this message to the General.»

The streaming stars at the corner of my eye were doing nothing for my nausea, but asking felt like the polite thing to do.

«Do you need any help…?»

Poe waved a hand at me, without opening his eyes or taking his hand off his face.

«Don’t worry, go. Classified reports and so on. Very hush-hush.»

«I will leave you to it, then» I replied, trying to squash the relief surging into my chest as I left the nauseating stream of highly-condensed stars behind my back, together with that uncomfortable conversation. I squashed just as promptly the winding thread of guilt elicited by that feeling. I was not running. I was merely regrouping. I held tight on that thought, as I picked my way back to my room.

The feeling of being surrounded by my possessions, by what was familiar to me, did the rest–I felt as though I was finally able to _breathe_ , as the plasteel door whooshed close behind my back. It wasn’t home, and I wasn’t done with my duty by a long shot, but at least I was in a place that I recognized, amongst things that meant something to me. Toys and trinkets from my old life–and after what I had seen, what I had _felt_ , they seemed even more important than before. Scattered memories and shattered pieces of me, so easy to lose in the bottomless depth of that terrifying universe.

For the first time in my life, I realised that being who I was wasn’t a given–it was a privilege, and I would have to tighten my grip around whatever scraps made me Helana Seras if I meant to keep myself whole. A little carelessness, a tiny distraction, and there I would be–shredding bits and pieces of myself through the wide galaxy, strewn behind my back like the burning tail of a shooting star.

Taking off Poe’s soiled clothes went a long way to bring me back to my former self. I threw them in the sonic cleaner hidden underneath the plasteel sink, together with my underwear and my filthy boots, and for the first time since I came back onboard I looked at myself in the mirror.

I frowned in horror at what I saw, stomach churning in my belly at the thought that Poe and the Draethos had seen me in that undignified state. Whatever little make-up was left was ruined beyond repair, with dark smudges staining the dirty skin around my eyes and down to my cheeks. My face looked pasty and sweaty in the artificial light, and whatever wasn’t straight up filthy was covered in purplish bruises and scabbing cuts. It was my poor hair, however, that had taken the brunt of the storm–the messy bun I had chosen for our little adventure had to be tighten over and over, and whatever was left of it was a nest of knotted black hair, tousled and matted with earth and sweat. It was beyond disgusting, shameful to an unbearable degree. I covered my face in abject mortification, as I thought about Poe looking at me in that horrifying state.

I couldn’t stand such a disgraceful appearance any longer. Avoiding to look at the mirror as much as I could, I went to work on the shameful nest of my hair, trying to make sense of that tangled mess at least enough to get rid of the dirt. It took me more than half an hour, and as I was finally about to free my knotted locks from the elastic band, the ship shook to a halt under my feet. My heart was in my throat as I stumbled out of the bathroom door in a panic, filthy hair sticking in every direction, completely naked.

The chiming of the intercom stopped me dead on my tracks. It was coming from the datapad, left on the small plasteel table ages before, in another life. The shrill sound was followed by Poe’s voice, slightly distorted by the pad’s rudimental sound system.

«Sorry for the bumpy ride, we just jumped out of hyperspace - he cheerfully explained, as though I hadn’t almost puked my heart into the sink - We’re in Republic territory now. I’m gonna send my report to the General, and then we’re switching to light-speed again. Thought you might wanna know.»

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shallow breath and the rabbit-quick drumming of my heart. When I felt like I could speak again without screaming, I pressed on the glaring red icon on the corner of my pad.

«Thank you for the warning» I replied, winching slightly at how snappish I sounded. Poe didn’t even seem to register it.

«No problem. And… - a small pause - …try to relax. You’re safe, now.»

I bowed my head, filthy hair trailing down my naked shoulders. I should have said something, I guessed, but I couldn’t think of anything at all. My legs were trembling so much that I couldn’t move, and I was grasping the table so tightly that my knuckles were as white as bones. I tried to stay as calm as I could while the ship whirred back to life around me, whooshing and shaking as it jumped back into hyperspace, but I was barely breathing when the trembling subsided once again.

It took me a shameful handful of minutes to collect myself enough to move again. I was still shaking when I let go of the table, slithering shudders raking through my body at random intervals, but at least I didn’t feel like I was about to pass out anymore. I tried to breathe the panic out, and I thought with acidic anger that my old distaste for space-travel was now obsolete, replaced as it was by unrestricted hysteria. A lovely progress indeed.

The unfamiliar whirring of the sonic shower did little to soothe my frayed nerves, but being finally _clean_ helped infinitely. Together with the dirt, it felt as though I could get rid of anything I had brought back from Rokran with me, every little crumb of horror and dejection and fear, every scrap of filth and every shrapnel of feeling. Everything vaporized under the beam, and when I came out I felt as though another little piece of myself had settled back into place.

Choosing my clothes was the next task. I was literally going to be the face and voice of Lady Lilandra, and it didn’t matter what I had gone through, it didn’t matter I had almost died–I wasn’t going to disgrace her with an appearance that was anything short of perfect, and I wasn’t going to shame my father with a behaviour that was unbecoming for the daughter of a senator. I might have been covered in cuts and bruises, but I was going to introduce myself to General Organa as a clean, properly dressed and composed diplomat, not as the runaway goat that had been staring at me from the mirror. I was better than that.

That being said, I was not delusional–I knew very well my limits, and what I could hope to achieve without Hora’s impeccable skills. I chose a simple dress, something that I could slip in and out on my own–and something that would cover most of my scratches and bruises. While standing naked in front of the mirror, I had discovered a vast array of purple and yellowish blotches marking my arms and my thighs, the collarbone where the seatbelt had dug in during our rough landing, and more dotting my back and the soft skin of my belly. A handful of scratches were generously scattered between the bruises, but they were mostly scabbed over by now. I had applied a bacta patch on those that were still bleeding after the sonic shower, and left the rest alone.

The dress I chose was perfect for the occasion. It was a silk dress, dyed a light greyish hue and lengthy enough to cover me chin to toe, with a high neck and long sleeves. Several layers of grey gauze made the gown, so thin to be almost transparent, and flowers were embroidered in gold over the entire length. There was a long zip on the back, hidden amongst the silk so skilfully it was almost invisible, and although it took me some manoeuvring to get into it, the final effect was good enough. I squeezed my breasts in a slate grey corset, easy to bind from the front, embroidered with golden dots and decorated with little golden hanging chains, and I slid my feet into a pair of grey slippers.

Examining my reflected image, it felt _good_ to look like my old self again–my face was still a map of cuts and bruises, and my hair a mess, but I felt closer and closer to Helana Seras, and I was never going to let that go again. Some make-up took care of the scratches and bruises scattered all over my face, and the slate grey powder that I applied over my green eyes, sprinkled with gold, worked perfectly as a deflection. I carefully lined my eyes in black, and curled my blackened lashes to perfection. As I slathered my lips in shimmering gold, I stared at myself in the mirror and appreciated the result–it was flashy enough that cuts and bruises were well and forgotten, and a cool, dolled-up stranger was staring back at me.

Easier to hide, like that–easier to deceive.

The last issue to tackle was my hair. I had managed to untie the bun enough to get rid of the elastic band, and I had untangled that frightful black nest as much as I could to make sure that the sonic beam would disintegrate all the dirt and sweat that I had collected during the worst adventure of my life, but it was still a knotted mess, and I wasn’t sure how much time I would have to make sense of it. I had set up a portable mirror on the table to apply my make-up, so I collected my set of hairbrushes and went to work.

I was barely halfway through, when a familiar buzzing came from the door.

«Come on in» I called, as I fought to bring a particularly nasty knot to heel. I looked like a stray cat that someone had just dragged out of the sewers, and in normal circumstances I wouldn’t have even _dreamt_ of letting anyone that wasn’t Hora in, but Poe had seen worse than some rebellious hair. Telling him to come back later seemed pretty silly.

«Am I disturbing you?» Poe asked, looking curiously at me.

«I am more disturbed by the sorry state of my hair» I grumbled. «How long before our arrival?»

«Touchdown’s in two hours» Poe replied, regarding me with a little smirk. He picked his way inside, thumbs hooked in the eyelets of his black trousers. «Barely enough for you to get all _that_ under control, I think.»

I let out a pretty unladylike snort, as I wrestled the knot into submission. Then I picked up a finer-toothed comb, smoothing out the last kinks.

«It has an evil will to it, I swear.»

Poe replied with a short laugh. I picked up my brush, attacking another section of crimped hair. Poe stepped closer, stretching a hand in my direction.

«Let me» he said, staring down at me with unreadable dark eyes. There was a barely-there pull over his lips, like the phantom touch of a smile.

I frowned, struggling to disentangle the brush from the knotted mess that was trying to swallow it whole.

«You would have me believe that you actually know your way around… _this_?» I bit out, pulling and pushing until, with a final wince, I managed to retrieve my brush. I looked up at his downturned face, and there was a strange softness threaded through the lines and edges of his angular features.

Poe drew up his shoulders in a little shrug.

«I used to braid my mother’s hair, when I was little - he elaborated, with a low, hushed voice - It’s been a while, but I think I can manage. Don’t expect anything fancy, though.»

There was a scathing reply ready on the tip of my tongue, but I let it pass. It looked like such a fond memory–fouling it was the last thing I wanted. It was sad, how little I could relate.

I settled against the back of the chair, handing him my brush.

«Thank you» I simply answered.

I looked at him through the mirror, as he took the brush and stood behind my back. He had washed himself as well at some point, and I could smell the cologne he had used to smooth down his shaved cheeks. He was wearing clean clothes, and had rolled the sleeves of his dark shirt up to his elbows, displaying the bacta patches that littered his banged-up arm. Cuts and bruises looked even darker now, on his clean face.

«Don’t mention it.»

I tensed in my seat, forehead drawn in a frown, as his fingers touched lightly the knotted mass of my hair. I was used to having my hair brushed and braided -I could have done very little in life without Hora’s absolute mastery in anything and everything that concerned grooming-, but she had been the only one allowed to work on my hair since I was thirteen years old, and I doubted that Poe’s square hands had the same skilful touch of Hora’s nimble fingers. I expected him to tackle my hair with the same determination with which he operated anything owing an engine–head first and straight into battle, no matter if there were a few crashes here and there, the important thing was to come out victorious on the other side. I had therefore resigned myself to clumsy hands and an ordeal of pulling and wrenching in order to get whatever was left of my hair free of tangles–I hadn’t expected a gentle touch. I lowered my gaze, eyelids fluttering, as Poe carefully disentangled a thick lock of black hair and worked at it with surprisingly dexterous fingers, unravelling the worst of the knots before applying the brush.

«Am I hurting you?» he asked, in the same low, hushed tone. It felt like a strange, delicate moment–something that could be shattered in dangerously jagged pieces with a careless touch.

«No» I replied, just as quietly. «You are surprisingly good at this.»

Poe chuckled, as he used his fingers to smooth down the last kinks in the lock he was tending to. It was not as time-efficient a technique as the finer-toothed comb, but I could not fault its results.

«I’m a man full of surprises» he quipped back, and it was such a corny line that I had to laugh, trying my best to stay perfectly still. «Let me know if I’m pulling you hair.»

It was a nice feeling, being taking care of like that–something that reminded me of home, of Hora, and that at the same time had nothing to do with either. There was a strange electricity in the touch, like a barely suppressed shiver, ignited spark after spark by every stroke of his fingers.

«I will» I murmured, bowing my head slightly to give him more manoeuvring room. His fingers wove through my hair, from the top of my head to my nape, and I shuddered as they trailed down my covered neck. I didn’t think that much touching was necessary for the task, but I wasn’t going to point it out. I closed my eyes, as Poe finally pushed the tamed lock over my shoulder and went to work on the next one.

I had no idea how long we stayed like that, only that with every touch of his fingers, with every stroke of the brush, the very last debris I had brought with me from Rokran fell off my body. For the first time since I set foot on that blasted ship, I allowed myself to relax, to unlock my cable-taut muscles one by one, almost slumping in my seat as Poe tackled knot after knot with patient, gentle hands. Eventually, there were no more tangles left–but Poe gathered the smoothened-out mass of my black hair anyway and brushed it over and over, ever so slowly, fingers stroking together with the brush.

I startled, as Poe leaned over my shoulder to lay the brush on the table. I had been so relaxed, so completely caught-up in the gentle weaving of his fingers, that it took me a moment to blink myself back to present.

«Didn’t mean to scare you» Poe murmured from behind my back, laying his warm hands on my shoulders as he stared at me through the mirror. «I should get going with the braiding, though, or you won’t be ready in time.»

«Of course» I mumbled in reply, voice low and a little groggy. I frowned slightly, embarrassed at being caught spacing out like that. I ducked my head, trying to clear my mind from the last strands of fog as I looked for the elastic bands I had prepared on the small table. They were just behind the mirror, in their little silver box, and I handed them to Poe.

Poe fished a few elastic bands from the box, stretching them around his wrist, before trailing his fingers through my hair. I fought the by-now ingrained instinct to close my eyes, as the soothing motion travelled along my nervous system like a wave.

«These should be enough» Poe cheerfully declared, only the smallest smirk playing on his face to betray that he knew very well the effect his touch was having on me.

Peeved at the idea of being handled, I put the box back on the table and straightened my back, refusing to let go again so completely as Poe threaded his fingers through my smooth hair. I heard him chuckle, amused and fastidiously familiar, but I didn’t react–I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

After the languid, drawn-out brushing, the braiding went on surprisingly quickly. I barely felt the pull as Poe worked through three little separated braids, two from my temples and one from the top of my head, and after having secured the ends with three elastic bands, proceeded to weave them together in a big, heavy plait that fell on the thick mass of hair covering my back. He let his hands linger for a moment longer, stroking the tips of my free locks, before stepping away.

«Well? - he asked, as I evaluated his handiwork in the mirror - What do you think?»

I turned my head one way and the other–I wasn’t used to letting my hair hang so freely, but with a few tweaks I could work with it.

«The braids are straight enough - I appraised, already thinking about the kind of jewellery I could weave through them - It is nothing fancy, as you said, but it will do in a pinch.»

«So many compliments all together, as usual» Poe muttered, but there was no bite to his words. He looked like he wanted to say something else, touch me a little more, but time was running out.

I stood up, retrieving his clothes from the sonic cleaner and shoving them into his arms, as I threw the bindings on the bed and kept the boots.

«Thank you for everything» I briskly dismissed him, as I examined my freshly cleaned boots and assessed the damage. The thick leather had born well the brunt of our little adventure, and with a little polishing they would look brand new. I stored them carefully in one of my crates, and took out the chest with all my jewellery. I was ruffling through my gold collection when Poe cleared his throat.

«I think these might be yours» he suggested, voice barely holding in a laugh. As I turned, I realised that what was dangling from his proffered hand were my panties. Poe was doing his best not to smirk, but he wasn’t very good at it.

«Oh, yes. I forgot about those - I replied, barely bothering to shrug as I turned back to the earrings I was currently assessing - Leave them on the bed, by the bindings.»

«I’ll never understand you» Poe sighed, from behind my back. «I’ll come get you when we land on the planet.»

«Yes, thank you» I replied, somewhat distractedly, as I emerged victorious from the chest. I barely heard the door swoosh open, busy as I was to select a few pieces of golden jewellery to go with the earrings.

After that, I proceeded to put everything away, and in a little more than half an hour the room looked as immaculate and empty as it had upon my arrival. The only little piece of me left were the sealed crates, tidily piled up against the wall, and whatever was left on the table.

I was sitting at it, just about to give my hair a final touch, when the intercom on my datapad chimed to life.

«Just wanted to warn you that we’re almost there. I’ll try for a softer landing, this time ‘round.»

I chuckled under my breath, as I took my datapad and pressed on the glaring red icon.

«Do not try too hard. It does not come natural to you, and I would not want you to sprain something.»

Poe snorted, as the ship started to rattle under my feet.

«Coming out of hyperspace now» he warned me, with his usual remarkable timing. I scoffed, without bothering to open the channel again, and I waited for the tremors to subside before going back to the delicate golden chain that I was winding around my head. I didn’t like the subtle vibrations racking through the ship any better than the first time around, as we slowly entered the planet’s atmosphere, but at least I was ready for them now. And the task at hand was important enough to distract me from oncoming death, as I concentrated on coiling the golden chain _just_ _right_ around my plated head. There was a little piece of obsidian attached to it, smoothed and polished, and I made sure that it hung properly on my forehead.

I was checking the final result on my portable mirror, appreciating the little polished obsidian chips mounted on my hanging earrings, when the ship shuddered into a halt on what I supposed were the infamous Resistance’s grounds. I refreshed my golden lipstick, before standing up and putting away the last of my possessions.

The door chimed just as I was closing the satchel with my datapad.

«Come on in» I called, settling the satchel on top of my crates.

«We’re here» Poe announced simply, stepping inside. He had thrown a vaguely familiar brown leather jacket over his dark shirt, and was looking at me up and down with a little frown. «The Headquarters are usually pretty warm, but it’s cold outside. You should put something over… _that_.»

I meant to scoff at his tone, but it came out as a hushed chuckle.

«On the bed» I directed, turning my back and carefully lifting my braided hair. «If you would be so kind.»

«…right - Poe replied, after a beat - You want me to put the cloak on you.»

«If you think you can work your way around it.»

Poe laughed under his breath at my nipping rebuttal, but a moment later he was carefully draping the cape around my shoulders. He was so close that I could feel the heat of his body as he leaned forward, and the warmth of his breath over my fingers, still holding high the thick mass of my hair, as he snuck his hands on either side of my neck and hooked the golden claps of the cloak over my throat. He lingered a moment, smoothing down the hood along my back, before stepping away.

I blinked, as the warmth of his body disappeared, and slowly lowered my hair. I adjusted the folds of my cloak around me -the slate gray velvet and the golden embroidery catching the artificial light- and then I was finally ready.

«We can go, now» I announced, slotting mechanically back into my diplomat persona. It felt like slipping into a pair of old shoes, worn down to perfection, but at the same time strangely jarring, with Poe standing so close to my side that I could smell his cologne. He had brushed back his black hair in a semblance of order, but as I looked at him I remembered the silky texture of it–the way the unruly lock that kept tumbling onto his forehead had felt, curled around my finger.

Putting a safe distance between me and whomever I was talking to was my way of tackling diplomacy–I slipped into whatever mask I felt was the most appropriate for the task, and spun charming lies as I smiled. Our little adventure had disintegrated my ability to extract myself from the situation, to watch it from afar as an outsider, to be anything the circumstances needed me to be. I had been too isolated, too scared, too far away from anything I knew to keep myself truly anchored, truly detached, and bits and pieces of Helana had filtered through–until I almost died in that tunnel, and whatever pretty mask and captivating song I had painstakingly constructed through the years had shattered like glass, together with what made me the daughter of Senator Seras. I hadn’t had any choice in the matter, and as I crumbled to pieces, I had allowed Poe to _see_ me, to take a peek at the truth.

I was hidden now, clad in armour, and most of all, myself again–but it was difficult to remember who I was supposed to be, with Poe’s presence dragging me back to a maze of tunnels, to a crumbling mountain and to the sound of his voice breaking into the darkness.

I couldn’t allow myself that kind of weakness. I had worked too hard and too long to let anyone ruin everything I had toiled for. My job was paramount, and I was either to get used to working with that distraction, or to eliminate the distraction altogether.

 _Not that the distraction will be around for much longer_ , supplied a corner of my mind, and it annoyed me that a little disappointment was threaded through the general relief that came with the thought.

But that was a fruitless train of thoughts, and I had no more time to consider it. Poe was there, and the ramp was opening on a dusky sky and a dark compound, and there were people waiting for me on the grey duracrete. It didn’t matter what was going to happen in the future–he was there now, and I wasn’t going to disgrace Father or Lady Lilandra with a less than perfect behaviour, Poe or not Poe.

«Here we are, General!» Poe announced, as though that ratty freighter of his could have been in any way not recognized on sight. «Found some bumps on the road, but I brought your guest all in one piece.»

_More or less._

I kept a fixed smile on my face as I followed him down the ramp, carefully picking my way. I could spot the dark shapes of trees in the background, and what looked like a duracrete compound built directly inside a string of low hills.

It was yet another underground facility. Not even the smell of fresh, musky air and the feeling of proper ground under my feet could completely erase the dread rising in my chest at the thought. I gritted my teeth at the shiver dribbling down my spine, and I knew I was lying, when I blamed it on the chilly night breeze gusting under my cloak.

I forced my body to relax, my muscles to unlock, and my face to look as friendly as humanly possible. Haughtiness, in this context, would not do.

There were a few people waiting for us on the landing pad, under the artificial lights shining from the compound’s walls. They looked like a confusing array of politicians and paramilitary personnel, with a little army of droids lurking in the shadows.

I had little difficulty spotting General Leia Organa in the mix. She was standing at the front of the little crowd, hair severely tied in a tight bun on her nape and short frame clothed in an unadorned but elegant blue dress. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, looking exactly like the holos I had seen–pragmatic, business-like and razor-sharp.

«General Organa» I greeted her, stopping in front of her straight figure and dipping my head in a polite little bow. «It is an honour. My name is Helana Seras. You have been expecting me, I believe.»

General Organa had the piercing eyes of a Corellian hunting hawk, and was studying me with a keen gaze barely softened by her approachable expression. She was open to a friendly relationship, either with me or with the person I represented, but she was also primed to quarrel, if needed. It would take me a while to realise that there was nothing personal in that–she had been forced to barrel through so much, in her life, that fighting came to her like a second nature, everlasting aggression simmering just beneath the surface.

«I have» she replied, in a slightly hoarse voice. She had dark hair, still untouched by the grey. A fine web of lines, around her eyes and mouth and across her forehead, was the only mark that betrayed her age. «Welcome to our Headquarters. I heard about the troubles you had to go through, and I am truly sorry.»

She sounded sincere enough, with her thin brows knitted in sympathy and a layer of warmth glazed over her dark eyes. I bowed my head again in acknowledgment, thinking about my reply. Downplaying what had happened could turn against me, in a not-so-far future, so I decided to keep it simple.

«I did not expect to run into that kind of excitement, but we were lucky–we managed to escape the Unknown Territories surprisingly unscathed» I surmised, before adding, because it was only fair: «Commander Dameron has proved to be more than capable to ensure my safety, and to bring me back to your base. I would not have survived, without him.»

My praise seemed to catch Poe off-guard. He looked dumbstruck for a second, staring back at me with wide eyes, before ostensibly remembering how words were supposed to work.

«I… ah, thank you, Helana–Miss Seras» he stammered, ducking his head in what I recognized to be, with some amusement, embarrassment. «It was nothing, really. Just a little spot of bother.»

So much for not downplaying that we had almost died in a mine in the middle of nowhere.

«Hardly» I gently corrected him, using my supposed eagerness to praise him as an excuse to give proper weight to our little adventure–or the other way around, I wasn’t really sure anymore. «I would not be here, if it wasn’t for the Commander. I owe him my life.»

Poe threw me a long, bewildered glance, as though he wasn’t sure who I was anymore. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh more or to roll my eyes, but I refrained from doing either, keeping a polite smile stitched onto my face.

«Well, it wasn’t–I mean… really, I–» Poe stuttered, before shaking his head slightly. «You’re welcome?»

I bit back a smirk as he ran a nervous hand through his hair, ruining whatever order he had managed to impose over his tousled curls.

General Organa had followed our back-and-forth with a quirked brow, and was now staring at us with a strange little smile pulling at her lips.

«Poe is our best pilot, I trusted him to keep you safe» she declared, before loosening the arms that at some point, during our little exchange, she had crossed over her chest. «But you will be exhausted, and I am keeping you here, standing in the cold. This is not how we treat our guests.»

The diplomatic denial came mechanically, already on the tip of my tongue before she had even finished speaking. But pretending would make little sense, when my smile was already cracking and a sense of utter weariness was creeping over me like a blanket. I wasn’t about to let myself run dry to the point of collapsing–it would have been useless, and foolish on top of that. Mental exhaustion was as dangerous as a loose cannon, in diplomacy, and I wasn’t going to jeopardize my work with an ill-advised choice of words just to protect my pride.

I smiled, instead, and accepted her courtesy.

«Thank you, General Organa.»

She waved her hand.

«Nonsense. We have a room prepared for you, and then you are more than welcome to join us in the mess hall for some warm food.»

I bowed my head in acknowledgment. She had invited me to join them–she hadn’t offered to have something brought into my room. An interesting choice.

«Kaydel, please, take care of Miss Seras’ luggage - General Organa went on, gesturing towards a blond girl standing amongst the little crowd of silent observers - Bring the droids with you. Poe will show you the way.»

The girl nodded her agreement, and waved a tapered hand towards the droids idling in the background. With a buzzing whirr, the little army of droids came to life, approaching the lowered ramp.

«Follow me» Poe directed, preceding the little horde inside the freighter. The girl and the droids followed suit, while General Organa turned again towards me.

«It’s twenty hundred hours here. Take your time. I will have the cooks keeping something warm for you.»

«That would be most appreciated, General Organa.»

«I will join you for a cup of Ch’hala tea in about an hour. We will have time to get to know each other, since you are supposed to stay here for… how long, six days?»

«That is correct, General.»

«Six days - she repeated, with a little nod - Enough time for you to get acquainted with us, with our base, and with what we are trying to do. And enough time for us to get acquainted with you.»

There was the slightest edge of a threat in there–nothing more detectable than a little pebble on a sandy shore, but there nonetheless. I tilted my head, true interest sparking in my fixed smile. I liked that. I didn’t particularly care for threats, but I loved a challenge.

«I am looking forward to it.»

General Organa regarded me with another long, piercing glance, before nodding brusquely. The blond girl chose that moment to emerge from the bowels of our forlorn freighter, Poe and the droids in tow, and the General gestured slightly in her direction.

«Lieutenant Connix will show you to your room. Forgive me, but I have something to discuss with our Commander.»

«Of course, General. I am truly grateful for you kindness.»

General Organa waved away my gratitude like a thing of no consequence.

«I will see you later, Miss Seras» she said, as a farewell. I let my eyes linger on her as she approached Poe, speaking to him in hushed tones before walking away with him.

I blinked, tearing my gaze away. It was none of my business, and the blond girl was staring expectantly at me.

«I am Lieutenant Kaydel Ko Connix, Miss Seras - she introduced herself, as soon as she had my attention - Please, follow me. I will take you to your room.»

«Thank you, Lieutenant» I vaguely replied, as I took in her slight figure, clad into a golden petty officer’s uniform. She had warm brown eyes and ashen blond hair, neatly tied in two little buns at both sides of her head. She looked competent and quietly put-together–a combination of qualities that I appreciated.

Holding close the flapping folds of my cape, I followed her through the landing pad, with our little army of droids in tow. As we left, the small crowd of onlookers began to dwindle, people scattering in various directions now that there was nothing left to see.

The compound turned out to be a maze of dingy duracrete corridors, dug deep underneath ground level. It looked well-kept, but old–old enough to be a rebel base, with deep cracks splitting up the uneven floors and thick roots of local vegetation weaving their way through the fractured ceilings, reclaiming their territory from the clutches of the little cluster of humanity that had wormed its way through the underbelly of that wild Outer Rim planet. It was a strange place, at the same time desolate and buzzing with life, a strange mixture of run-down and cared-for. The walls were bare and fissured, but hanging on them were colourful signs, doling out detailed instructions in Basic on how to navigate that dreary tangle of barren tunnels and bleak open spaces, teeming with bright terminals and datascreens. There were few people mulling about -I suspected that most of the base personnel was indeed in the mess hall- but there were more than a few droids rushing one way or another.

Poe was right, however–I didn’t know if the compound was artificially heated up or if the thick vegetation crawling down the cracked walls was doing the trick, but the winding corridors were warmer than the outside. The balmy recycled air was soon to become stifling, under the thick cloak draped over my shoulders. It was uncomfortable, but I didn’t mind much–I disliked the cold as much as the hot weather, used as I was to Coruscant’s artificially mild temperatures, and I would be perfectly alright as soon as I got rid of my cape.

«This is the guest wing» Lieutenant Connix explained to me, as we turned yet another corridor. Every sign there was painted in yellow, with little bands in other colours indicating the right direction for different wings. «Your room is located in corridor 6, third door from the sign. This place can be a little overwhelming, if you have never been here before.»

«It looks like a big compound» I replied carefully, aiming for friendly but falling awfully short. After two days spent in close quarters with Poe, I was just starting to realise how stilted I normally sounded. That was not optimal–there was propriety and there was awkward stiffness. It was a thin line, and my skills at skimming it were not as flawless as I had thought.

«It is. It is also pretty old–it was a rebel base, once» the Lieutenant replied, confirming my suspicions. She had a brisk pace, which she was clearly struggling to keep slow and easy for me. «We can’t send a map of the compound to your datapad, but if you need any help finding your way, you can ask anyone–human or droid. They will be happy to help you.»

I could understand why they wouldn’t allow any stranger to own a map of the compound–it would have been an unnecessarily dangerous risk. The Resistance might have been an unofficial organization, but it was military to a fault in nature. The more I saw, the more I was sure of it. General Organa had used well whatever she had learnt during her years in the Rebellion.

As we turned yet another corner, a yellow sign bearing a huge 6 draw my attention, and sure enough Lieutenant Connix was stopping in front of the third door from it.

«Here we are.» She pressed a plaque set into the wall, and the door whooshed open. «You can lock it from the inside, of course.»

The room looked about as run-down and barren as the rest of the compound, but it was clean, and someone had gone through a great deal of pain to make sure that it was well-kept. Thick roots had dug their way into a corner, running through the room from ceiling to floor, but there was a nice little chest of drawers on the other side, and a big plasteel bed. I quirked up my eyebrows as I saw a big closet pushed against the wall, made of actual wood. It was a rare sight, even with the clumsy and unpolished carvings that tried with little success to spruce up the roughly cut piece of furniture. A small vanity, made of an unidentifiable material, completed the picture. It was surmounted by a little square mirror, cracked in a corner, and someone had pushed a padded plasteel chair underneath it.

The room was nothing fancy, but I could work with it. After the mines on Rokran, I imagined that I could work with pretty much anything life threw at me.

There was a plasteel door on the further wall, and Lieutenant Connix took my gaze lingering on it as her cue. She had remained in the corridor during my meticulous appraisal, and was now standing by the doorframe.

«There is a small bathroom, behind that door» she explained, with a strangely concerned look on her angular face. I wondered what my expression had let out, and promptly chastised myself–I was bone-tired and still wound-up from my less than stellar experience, but that was no excuse for sloppiness. «I hope the room is of your satisfaction…?»

«Of course it is» I reassured her, smiling my usual, polite smile. I tried to lace some warmth through it, and it seemed to work well enough–the Lieutenant smiled back, ostensibly more at ease.

«Where would you prefer your luggage?» she asked, nodding at the first droid to come forward. There had been ten droids waiting in the courtyard, and shifting my personal effects had demanded no less than seven of them. It wasn’t a meagre baggage in any way, for a civilian, but for a diplomat it was skimming the line of respectable.

It took me the best part of forty minutes to find the proper place for everything. Each trunk was slightly different, allowing me to divine its content simply by looking at it–the smaller wooden chest for my jewellery, the nude plasteel crate for my winter garments, the light yellow one for my summer apparels, and so on. Taking a guess at the climate on that forsaken planet, I deemed both those trunks useless–the average temperature seemed to float around the middle, making the winter clothes excessive, and the warmer environment of the underground base still didn’t warrant for the transparent gauzes and airy linen stored in my summer chest. I therefore discarded the two unusable crates in a far-off corner of the room, and proceeded to hang all my other dresses and cloaks in the closet, including the cape I was still wearing, and to fill the chest of drawers with my undergarments, neatly folded and organized by type and colour. Since corsets, jewellery and shoes wouldn’t run into the fearsome risk of creases, I left them in their trunks. I asked the ever-helpful droids to pile the empty crates on top of the discharged one, and I had them neatly arrange the still full ones against the wall, where they would be easy to reach but out of the way.

I examined carefully each item, before putting it away. Our not exactly flawless landing on Rokran had brought less carnage and devastation than I had thought, and I couldn’t find anything more damaging than a few wrinkles.

Somewhat satisfied with my living conditions, I supervised the entire room before finally dismissing both the droids and Lieutenant Connix, who had kindly lent her help. I assured her that I could easily find the mess hall, even without help, and sent her on her way with genuine gratitude. It would have taken me twice the time to put everything away, had I been on my own.

Only when the door was closed behind her back, I could let myself relax. My shoulders sagged slightly, as I allowed myself the luxury to feel lost, overwhelmed. I knew what I was supposed to do, but I needed a break before facing General Organa once again.

I was pretty certain that if I were to sit on the bed I wouldn’t stand up again until morning, so I explored the little bathroom instead. Not only I suspected that very few rooms in the whole compound had the luxury of an en-suite refresher, but I was pretty sure that they had truly tried their best to please me–as small as the bathroom was, everything in it seemed gleaming and new. The shower cubicle was ridiculously tiny, but actual water poured over my hands, when I tried the knobs.

I smiled at the feeling. A proper shower–the only luxury I needed. But a luxury I would have to wait for.

With a little sigh, I wiped my hands dry on a towel and came out of the bathroom. There was a nice scent to the room–of freshly laundered linen and cleaning products, mingled with the smell of earth and bark and duracrete in a way that was not utterly unpleasant. I was a little too warm in my dress, even without the cloak, but not uncomfortably so, and the corridors were cooler. I refreshed my make-up in the little mirror and spruced up the gown, then I was out again.

It took me a little while to find the mess hall. The corridors had filled up by now, both with people mulling about for what I supposed were their after-dinner activities, and droids of any type and shape. The bustle confounded me a little, but I was unwilling to ask for directions, and eventually my stubbornness was rewarded–after stumbling into a few open bays, and being eyed curiously by officials in tidy uniforms, I finally reached my destination.

The mess hall was a huge oval-shaped room with a vaulted ceiling, filled with long tables and benches and as run down as the rest of the compound. The hour was late enough that people were steadily trickling out, but a few tables where still pretty full–and annoyingly loud.

I took my time wading through the hall, assessing my surroundings. It was a nice gauge of how the base worked–there was the same puzzling mixture of people from any social stratum, sitting at the benches and chatting amiably, that I had already seen in the landing pad, and later in the hallways. I saw diplomats, clad in exotic and flowing dresses, talking to primly dressed officials, and mingling with pilots and technicians and mechanics. There was also a huge number of people in civilian clothes, whose roles in the base I couldn’t even begin to fathom, and everyone seemed perfectly at ease with the company. It was a strange picture, to say the least. It was different from any kind of social interaction I had witness so far, and that thought alone was enough of a warning, even for my exhausted brain–proceed with caution. You are treading foreign waters.

I was still examining the hall, when I spotted General Organa at one of the tables. She was sitting with a miscellaneous array of people, and talking animatedly with what looked like a politician, from the rich flowing robes. As I picked my way towards her, I heard a familiar voice coming from a nearby bench, and I turned my head just in time to see Poe–he was sitting at the fullest, most obnoxiously loud table, surrounded by so many people that a bunch of them had to stand up out of sheer lack of seats, and he was apparently describing something that required him to gesticulate a lot and that made the audience randomly explode in choruses of laughs and exclamations. I had little doubt about the subject of his exceedingly enthusiastic report, and a part of me wondered how exactly he was describing my role in his most recent adventure–if he was relating my absolute lack of any usable skills, or if my name had barely been referred to in passing. Either way, I highly doubted that the quick, frantic hand-job in that dirty cave was being mentioned. I didn’t really care about any of them knowing what we had been up to, but there was a time and place for everything, and that wasn’t a mess hall in front of people I was supposed to work with.

Poe might have been many things, but he wasn’t stupid–and more than that, as foolish as that was, I _trusted_ him. Sex was nothing to be ashamed of, but details were supposed to stay private. I understood him enough to know that he would never humiliate me that way. At least, I hoped I did.

I had no more time to think about Poe, however–my arrival had been noted, and General Organa was gesturing for me to join her. She whispered something at the petty officer sitting at her right, a Sullustan in a dark uniform, and he nodded slightly before getting up. She patted meaningfully at the recently vacated seat, and I swallowed a scowl, as I realised that I would have to climb over to sit at her side–the bench was full to the brim, and no one else seemed willing to get up and allow me some basic decency. Forcing myself to smile what I hoped was a friendly smile, instead of the grim grimace I could feel pulling at the sides of my mouth, I collected my gowns and daintily took my place. It was utterly humiliating, and I fought the unfamiliar and mortifying heath I felt creeping on my cheeks. I would not allow anyone to see how much that simple thing had affected me.

«You found us - General Organa said, with a little smile - I was starting to worry. The base can be pretty difficult to navigate, if you are unfamiliar with it.»

I smiled back at her, primly smoothing my gown over my legs. The billowy layers of embroidered gauze that covered the silk took so much space that the man sitting at my side was forced to make some extra space for it, but he didn’t look too put out by that. It was strange to be surrounded by so many genuine expressions–people either seemed to stare at me with open curiosity or to ignore me altogether, but there was no trace of the polite but fake interest I was used to. It was strangely unsettling.

«I took a couple of wrong turns, but the signs were pretty clear» I replied, struggling to focus on her face. I could still hear Poe’s voice in the background, and it was annoyingly distracting.

«Do you like your accommodations?» General Organa asked, like Lieutenant Connix had done before–but, unlike the Lieutenant, without concern in her voice. There was barely the lilt of a question, as though she was sure about the answer, and utterly unconcerned about it.

I couldn’t fault her observations. She could have stuck me into a hole in the ground and I would have still praised her courtesy.

«Absolutely. You were very kind, taking such pains to make me feel comfortable.»

«You are our guest. You are supposed to feel comfortable» General Organa replied, before switching her attention to something just behind my back. «Ah, here is your dinner. I hope it is of your liking. Thank you, Nunb.»

It was the Sullustan from before. He was standing so close to me that I could see with perfect clarity the deep black of his eyes–pupil, iris and sclera. The light skin of his face was folded thickly over his small mouth, and he was holding a tray in his hands.  I leaned back slightly, to give him enough room to place the tray on the table.

«Thank you, officer» I said, as I took in the content of the tray. The main dish was a bowl of something that looked like stew, steaming hot and with little pieces of boiled meat floating about, accompanied by a loaf of bread and some blue bantha milk. It wasn’t exactly the kind of sophisticated food I was used to, but it was still better than ship rations.

«You must be hungry - General Organa observed, as I fastidiously moved things around - Please, eat while it’s still hot. We can talk later.»

As I brought the first spoonful of stew to my mouth, I realised that I was more than hungry–I was starving. The last time I had put something in my stomach had been hours before, in the savannah, on our way back to the freighter. Poe had insisted for a little break, and we had eaten the last cubes he had brought with him without even stepping down the speeder. Six or seven hours had passed since that.

It was a little strange, adjusting yet again to a new rotation period. According to the glaring clocks set in the duracrete wall, it was half past nine in the evening, but my body was still used to Rokran’s time, where it would be about four or five in the afternoon, if my calculations were correct. I didn’t really mind to shorten my day, though–I was so tired that I welcomed the thought. I needed time to relax, to unwind, or that experience would end in a disaster. Sleeping in a bed, clean and safe, on an actual planet, was sure to do the trick.

A new, treacherous thought gave me pause, as I chewed on a fat piece of boiled meat. I was perfectly aware of _other_ means to unwind, and for the first time in my life I actually considered them. I wasn’t sure about it, but I suspected that there was _someone_ , in the base, willing to help me with the matter.

I filed the thought away for later perusal, as I swallowed my mouthful. I wasn’t used to eat in silence -food was supposed to be lubricant for social interactions, in my experience- but I was too hungry to sustain a conversation. I had gone through most of the stew, when I finally felt full enough to do something else other than chewing and swallowing.

I considered my options. The people sitting at the table had started to dwindle, as I consumed my dinner, and we had ended up somewhat isolated at the far end of the bench. Someone would come up to General Organa for a question or a comment, here and there, but she was mostly silent, staring into her cracked mug with a pensive expression etched all over her face. She seemed far away, lost in what looked like her own pressing concerns, and as loathe as I was to disturb her, I knew that she wasn’t going to let me leave the table until she had what she wanted–whatever that might be. It was easier to play my cards the moment I thought would better suit my needs, instead of letting her lead me about like a recalcitrant goat.

There was a wide range of things I could say, but General Organa was too well-trained not to spot my diplomatic nothing in a heartbeat. Being direct was not exactly my way, but from what I had seen of that place it was obviously _their_ way, and I was skilled enough in my job to know when I was supposed to adapt. An honest statement would get me further along than any idle chatter, polite as that might be.

I sipped my banta milk, tilting my head slightly.

«You have already received Commander Dameron’s report, I suppose» I stated, drawing her attention. «I can’t think he would be so remiss as not to mention my… scepticism, about your operation.»

I wasn’t supposed to have personal opinions. I was supposed to be a simple conduit, transferring whatever General Organa and Lady Lilandra would see fit back and forth, as a trusted messenger. But that ship had sailed, and now the best I could hope for was damage-control.

General Organa examined my face with a little frown, as though I had surprised her in some way. Her hands were still clutching the chipped mug.

«He did.» She paused, before adding: «It was nothing unexpected.»

«But it was, wasn’t it? - I corrected her - I am the daughter of a sympathizer. I am the one supposed to convince Lady Lilandra to lend you her help. I shouldn’t be the one needing convincing.»

«Do you, then? Need convincing?»

There it was again, that sharpness in her eyes. Wherever she had been while I was eating, she was fully present now, and utterly focused on me. Her mild, husky voice was supremely misdirecting, and I appreciated how well she could use it to balance her unmistakably piercing gaze. The experience she had accumulated throughout her life was making her a much better player than I was, in that particular game. I was truly impressed.

I took my time to answer, eating a piece of bread and sipping my milk. I was treading on dangerous ground, but I _liked_ it. Finally something that I was trained for, I was _born_ for.

«I will do what my father has asked me to - I eventually declared - I am not a traitor. I gave my word, and I am going to keep it. You have nothing to fear on that front. I will talk to Lady Lilandra, and I will do my outmost to convince her to support your cause.»

«That is not an answer. Although I thank you for this. I believe you.»

I hadn’t expected her to. That simple sentence rocked a little the ground on which I was standing, but it didn’t changed the path I had chosen.

«Is my opinion something in which you are truly interested?»

«Shouldn’t it be?»

She was peeling away one layer after the other, while giving nothing in return. But it was alright. It was exactly what I wanted.

«I am nobody. I am barely more than a student, and you know you have my loyalty anyway. I would never break my word, and I would never, _ever_ betray my father’s trust. Why do you need my opinion?»

General Organa regarded me for a long moment, as though she was thinking about her options. I was pretty sure I wasn’t the first diplomat with some doubts about her little operation, and I was mildly surprised at the regard she was showing me.

«I found out years ago that people are generally willing to give more, for a cause they believe in» she replied, a little warily.

I didn’t know how wise that was, but the instinctive reply was on my lips before I could think better of it.

«Willing to die, you mean.»

That seemed to be enough to get a reaction from her. She frowned deeply, staring at me with eyes as sharp and hard as a vibroblade.

«If needs be - she snapped back, true anger in her eyes - You’ve met the First Order. You’ve seen what they’re capable of. You should be the first to understand _why_ we need to fight.»

And there, there it was– _obsession_. She would try to save as many lives as she could, but she would not hesitate to send men and women to their death for the cause. Nor to sacrifice herself, if the need arose.

I kept a neutral, pleasant smile on my face. I disliked obsession–it brought nothing but disaster, and it made people foolishly unwilling to bend.

«I have met the Order. I have seen.» I took a little pause, pondering on the best way to convey my thoughts. «I think they should be stopped. But I am not certain that building a private army is the way.»

«That’s not what the Resistance is about» General Organa replied, voice low but still full of anger.

I shook my head.

«That is _exactly_ what the Resistance is about. I might agree with its purpose, but what you have built here is a paramilitary organization that responds solely to you.»

«We follow the laws of the Republic. We _fight_ for the Republic.»

«And that is the conundrum - I observed, as I pushed away my empty tray - The Republic will not defend itself, Commander Dameron has made that much clear. The only way to face the danger is to find people willing to fight for it. Which is exactly what you did.»

General Organa stared at me for a moment longer, before nodding slowly to herself.

«You are worried about the precedent.»

«Yes. It doesn’t matter what you mean to do with _this_ –you used your influence and your personal history to build yourself an army, in full knowledge of the Republic, and used it for your own purposes. You are trying to protect the Republic from what is left of the Old Empire, and I think it a commendable goal, but tomorrow someone else might come, someone not as honourable as you are, and they might use the Resistance as an example to build their own personal army, for their own personal gain.»

General Organa sighed at that, low and deep. She shook her head.

«You’re not the first to come to me with this particular objection. Someone else has told me the same thing before, not so long ago. And I thought about it myself. But what else are we supposed to do?»

I took my time to think, staring at the worn-out plasteel table. There was only one possible answer, as much as I loathed it.

«There is nothing else you can do» I replied, with uncharacteristic honesty. «You have fought with the Rebellion, so many years ago. I used to think that the First Order was just an empty threat, born from memories that you could not let go of. I saw the threat the Resistance could pose for the Republic, but I did not see the danger that you were fighting. But after Rokran… - I paused, as a black helmet came unbidden to my mind, and I tasted again dust and soil on my tongue - I saw what the First Order is capable of. It must be stopped, and if the Republic won’t do it, then somebody else will have to. It is as simple as that.»

I let my voice die out, aware of General Organa’s piercing gaze levelled on me. I had said my piece. That was as frank as I knew how to be, and if I had read her correctly, she looked like the type that could appreciate sincerity.

«Those were your concerns, then» she remarked, in a slow, even tone.

I nodded.

«And these are my conclusions, the same that I am going to share with Lady Lilandra, if she were to ask my opinion–I will help you, because we have no other choice.» I finally looked up from the table, staring back at her. «Was that satisfactory for you?»

General Organa held my gaze for a long, uncomfortable minute, before nodding as well.

«Yes. Now I know who you are.» I followed her with my eyes, as she stood up. «You will be tired, after everything that happened. Sleep in, tomorrow morning. Enjoy your room. Rest. Explore the compound, if you wish. I will organize a tour of the base for the afternoon.»

«Thank you, General Organa» I replied, and I truly meant it. She waved away my thanks and took off, hands still clutched around her chipped mug.

Left to my own devices, I realised that I had no reason to remain in the mess hall–nor the inclination. Putting some food in my belly had done wonders to abate the bone-deep weariness that had been weighting on my shoulders, but I was still tired, and in no mood to mingle. Of course, the more I talked to people, the more information I could collect for Lady Lilandra–but it was a delicate job, one that would be better carried out in the morning, with a fresh mind, instead than late in the evening after a conversation that had drained whatever mental strength I had left.

I wasn’t sure what to do with my tray, so I asked the closest person that was sitting at my table. It was an older woman, currently deep in conversation with a Togruta, but she smiled when I tried to get her attention, and was extremely helpful in her instructions.

«We don’t have servants here, or waiters» she explained, not unkindly. «Only the kitchen personnel–half of which doubles as technicians, or mechanics, or pilots, or anything else they are willing to do or to learn how to do. They prepare and serve the food in those containers - she went on, nodding towards a row of plasteel covered trays that were lying, clean and abandoned, on the long counter along the furthest wall of the hall - and anyone takes their pick. We bring the used trays back there.» She nodded towards a few rusty racks in a corner. «The kitchen is closed now, but the bar is open until twenty-three hundred hours, if you would like something to drink.»

Which explained pretty well the steadily increasing noise coming from the nearby table, which had engulfed even Poe’s voice. Everyone seemed to hold a plastic glass or a mug in their hand, and the conversation was as lively as it could be.

«Thank you, officer» I replied, bowing my head slightly.

She nodded again.

«I don’t know if anyone ever told you this–breakfast is from seven to nine hundred hours, lunch from twelve to fourteen, and dinner from nineteen to twenty-one.» I was starting to wonder if there was a hint of reproach in her tone, since I had been obviously eating very late, but she smiled at me. «I heard you came here with Dameron, and that you met the First Order in the Unknown Territories. You have been officially christened as one of us, now. Welcome to our base.»

I didn’t know what to say to that, and I was too tired to think about something clever. I bowed my head, thanking her again, and I was relieved when that closed the conversation. With General Organa gone, I could slide my way out of the bench instead than climbing it–it was not the most graceful thing I had managed in my life, but anything beat the indignity of raising my gown and jumping over the bench like a riotous eleven years old. I took my tray and left it in the empty rack. I was just picking my way back, pondering on whether I would like a drink before bedtime, when something bumped against my legs.

I was surprised enough that I almost tripped on it, but thankfully the thing rolled out of the way with a shrill bleep. I looked down as I regained my balance, and I realised that the unforeseen obstacle was a little droid. It was one of those new BB round units, orange and white. It bleeped again, shrill and vaguely interrogative, making a little aborted attempt at rolling closer before skittering away.

I smiled at the droid, and crouched lowly on the ground, grey gown opening around me. It wasn’t exactly proper, but I suspected that those people cared very little about propriety.

«Hello, little one» I greeted the droid, as it turned its round head slightly. «Do you need anything?»

The droid blurted a string of pips and beeps, moving its head excitingly one way and the other. I liked droids–they made more sense than humans, and they were much easier to predict. I chuckled lowly at that display.

«I am truly sorry, but I don’t speak binary. Maybe we could look for someone to help you?»

I was about to scan the mess hall when a familiar black-curled head perked up from the crowd of admirers, zooming in on me and the little droid. One second later, Poe had extracted himself from his adoring public, and was eagerly jogging towards us.

«Helana! - he called, and it felt so strange for a moment to hear him say my name again - I’m truly sorry, he knows not to wander. Was he bothering you?»

Poe crouched at the droid’s side, smiling down at it. He had lost his jacket, but he had kept the sleeves of his dark shirt rolled all the way down, hiding the bacta patches on his banged-up arm.

I shrugged slightly.

«He was trying to tell me something, but I do not speak binary.»

The droid bleeped again, shrill and galvanized, and Poe nodded at it before laying his hand lightly on its round head.

«I–ah, I’m afraid he’s been listening, when I talked about our trip - Poe translated, with a hint of interesting embarrassment interlaced through his words - He wants to know if you were the one on Rokran with me.»

I arched a brow at him, doing my best not to smirk.

«Yes, it was me» I replied to the droid, before turning back to Poe: «I did not know you could speak binary.»

He shrugged, a little bashfully, but obviously pleased at my impressed tone. He was trying to hide it, but with terrible results. I could stop being so worried about my performance, as long as I was there–compared to the base personnel I had met so far, I was a veritable chameleon.

«It’s a mandatory subject at the Academy - Poe explained, crossing his arms and resting them on top of his raised knees - And it turned out to be a useful skill to have, for a pilot. I can understand everything BB8 has to say to me without a computer or a protocol droid.»

«So, you are the infamous BB8» I said to the droid, with a little smile. The droid bleeped back at me in an obvious interrogative tone. «Poe told me about you. A BB unit, one of a kind.»

The beeping that followed sounded positively thrilled, as the little droid rolled its head towards Poe.

«Of course, he’s my buddy - Poe chuckled, with true affection in his voice - Aren’t you, BB8?» That earned him another string of happy bleeps, and Poe laughed, deep and low in his throat. His eyes were dark and full of intent, as he looked up at me. «You’ve got a very good memory. I’d forgotten all about that.»

There was something feral, something _hungry_ , surfacing on his bruised face. His black curls were tumbling everywhere, dark sideburns blending with the darker shade that his skin took on his cheeks and along his jaw, even if clean shaved. Poe sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, catching my gaze, and I suddenly remembered how kissing him had felt.

The moment had turned charged, all of a sudden, and I realised that we were on a planet, we were safe, and we were unbearably close. I wondered how we looked to an outsider, and if anyone would even bother to turn to our direction. Poe was staring at me as though he wanted nothing more than to devour me alive.

«Poe! Hey, Poe!»

The boyish, cheerful voice shattered the moment like glass, even if it was followed by another one, deeper and obviously older:

«Ziff, shut _the fuck_ up!»

Poe blinked, a fleeting look of exasperation crossing his features, before leaning back with a groan. I realised that we had been unwittingly moving a little closer, and I shook my head slightly, trying to clear it from the fog, trying to _think_.

«You should go back to your adoring public» I remarked, smiling up at him, and hoping that my smile wasn’t looking as dazed as I felt. «They are calling for you.»

Poe shrugged, a little helplessly.

«That’s… huh, that’s Ziff, and Snap.» His face lit up, as a huge, enthusiastic smile spread over his very pink lips. «You should join us. Drink something with us.»

I stared at him, as the weight of his hungry eyes, of that little moment we had shared, settled on me. There it was, again–that nagging voice, reminding me of all the nice ways Poe could help me unwind. And I was tired of trudging on, tired of being the stuck-up statue of myself, cold and untouchable. I _could_ take care of all that on my own, but that didn’t mean that I _had_ to–not when there was a lovely, thoroughly suitable alternative ready for the taking.

Letting myself run thin, ignoring my body and neglecting my needs, was a shamefully way to conduct myself–and allowing the necessities of my own body to interfere with my job was a staggeringly inept handling of business. I had been brought up better than that. Making a perfectly acceptable proposition was the adult thing to do, and the other party seemed willing enough.

I smiled at him, tilting my head ever so slightly.

«I do not think I will join you - I replied, as my mind churned out a plan - I will get something to drink, and then retire to my room. Thank you for your offer, though.»

Poe’s entire face fell, between comically and tragically.

«I get it - he said, looking down - I’ll see you around, I guess. » He stood up, almost too suddenly. «Let’s go, BB8. And… goodnight, Helana.»

«Goodnight, Poe.» I watched him return to his table, waiting for him to be out of earshot. «BB8! - I called then - Come back here. Please?»

The little droid swung a moment, with an obviously uncertain bleep. It looked first at the retreating form of its master, then at me, over and over, before finally rolling back to my still crouched form. I smiled at it, as I brushed a hand over the round body. It felt cool at the touch, and perfectly smooth.

«Could you relate a message for me? To Poe?» I asked. The droid replied with what I decided to consider as a curious, encouraging bleep, so I carried on. «People are starting to leave. As soon as there is no one here that can understand you, I want you to tell Poe that I will be waiting for him. Guest wing, corridor six, third door from the sign. Understood?»

The droid bleeped enthusiastically at me, a short string of pips and beeps that I could only hope were affirmative in meaning.

«Will you do this for me?»

Another string of excited bleeps. I felt the little smile playing on my lips broaden, as I delicately brushed the droid’s head with the tips of my fingers.

«Thank you, BB8. It was very nice meeting you.»

The little droid piped back cheerfully, as I slowly stood up on my feet. I watched briefly as the droid rolled back to the table, hopefully waiting for the crowd to dwindle before relating my message, and then I walked to the bar. I ordered a hot cup of Stim tea–I had plans for the evening, and no intention of getting sleepy before time.

Then, with a chipped mug clenched in my hands, I navigated the maze of corridors back to my room. I smiled to myself, as the door whooshed close behind my back.


	7. Part VII

I was sipping the last dredges of my Stim tea, sitting at the little vanity and distractingly looking at my face in the cracked mirror, when I heard a knock at the door. There was something slightly tentative to it, as though the person on the other side wasn’t all too sure about what kind of reception they would get.

I couldn’t blame Poe for that. I had been unforgivably fickle in my behaviour, even if I hadn’t meant to, and I knew that he had read my capriciousness as a string of rejections. I hadn’t been fair to him, and I would have understood, if he had decided not to show up tonight, after all. I had almost expected him not to–and yet, there he was.

There was the smallest hint of a pleased smile painted on my lips, as I checked my face in the mirror one last time. There were no detectable smudges in my make-up, and my hair looked as perfectly put together as it always had.

I knew that I was tarrying. I wasn’t sure about what I would see behind the door. I wasn’t sure if Poe would be angry at me. I told myself to stop dawdling like a child, and to behave like the adult that I was, instead.

«Come on in.»

I had purposely kept the door unlocked, and it whooshed open as soon as the words left my mouth. No one would have dared coming into my room so late in the evening without being invited, but as I took in Poe’s slightly uncertain figure, I realised that, until then, I hadn’t been completely sure that he would be the one behind the door.

But there he was, with guarded eyes and a frown marring his tanned forehead. He looked like he wasn’t completely sure why he was there, nor why he had come in the first place.

«I’m here» he said simply, as he stepped inside. The door whooshed close behind him. «You were… expecting me. Yes?»

I smiled up at him, carefully settling my empty mug on the worn counter of my rickety vanity.

«BB8 has related my message, then» I replied, without bothering to hide my delight.

Poe shrugged. He looked slightly put out, as he dipped his head slightly and ran a hand through the black curls hanging low on his nape.

«Of course he did - he said, a little snappishly - You could’ve told me that yourself, though.»

I kept my smile soft, as I sighed inwardly. It looked like my little charade had done more damage than I had thought.

«But where would be the fun in that?» I purred back, hoping that it qualified as flirting. I liked playful Poe much better than sullen Poe.

Poe’s scowl, for some reason, deepened at that. He scrubbed his hand over his clean-shaved jaw. The motion caught my gaze, and held it. He had been sporting a day worth of stubble the last time I stroked his face, and my fingers itched to brush his cheeks. I was getting used to his barbaric habit to treasure body hairs as though new ones might fail to replace them, but I yearned to touch smooth, naked skin.

«Why am I here, Helana?» Poe asked, a little warily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

The question gave me pose, as I wondered how much he had been drinking exactly. He looked steady enough on his feet, but he was usually much quicker in the catching up. Wasn’t that clear? Did pilots in that forsaken base visit each other’s rooms in the middle of the night for a game of Dejarik?

«Because I would like for you to spend the night» I replied, slow and clear, getting a wide-eyed stare for my troubles. «With me.» No reaction. «For sex.»

That seemed to do the trick. Poe took a sharp, loud breath, searching my face as though he was somehow still trying to make sense of my words.

«You… want me to have sex? With you?» he eventually blurted out, as if the prospect confused him somehow.

I tilted my head slightly, with an arched brow. I wasn’t sure what could possibly confuse him, at that point.

«If you are amenable, yes.»

Poe shook his head.

«I thought…» I would never know what he had thought, since he broke off, with a little sigh. «Never mind. _Of course_ I’m amenable. I thought it was obvious!»

I lifted a shoulder.

«You never know. People change their mind.» Poe was still staring at me like I had just sprung a second head. I gave him a little grin. «Lock the door, then, if you have decided.»

Poe slammed his hand on the locking pad settled into the wall, as an exasperated groan rumbled deep in his throat. His eyes never left me, as though he was convinced, deep down, that I would disappear as soon as he looked away. Or maybe that I would chase him out of the room with a broom, like a particularly meddlesome mouse.

«You are _impossible_ » he grumbled, as I rose from the poorly padded chair of my little vanity and walked up to him. Poe tracked my movements with almost unblinking eyes.

«You have said that already» I pointed out.

Poe looked like he was about to add something, but it melt away into a low chuckle. I grinned back at him, lifting my hands to frame his face between my palms. His skin was just as I remembered, feverish hot, his thick sideburns slightly coarse, and his curled hair as soft as silk. His eyes had a shade of hazelnut, so up close, and I realised that he wasn’t shrouded in the darkness of a cave anymore–this time, I could look at him in full light.

I thumbed his cheekbones softly, and unmistakable warmth settled into his eyes, as I reached up for a kiss. His lips were still the same, warm and wind-chafed, but I pressed up against them as though I was relearning their touch. It didn’t matter what I _knew_ –it _felt_ as though I hadn’t kissed him in years, time spinning out of control in the warped landscape of my mind. His hands were hovering above my hips, breath stuttering against my skin as I dragged the kiss on and on. It was a chaste kiss, lips softly slotting together, but slow, and lingering. I was so close that I could once again smell his cologne, even after all those hours–something fresh and slightly spicy, surely cheap, but that suited him.

His hands finally tightened their grip around my sides, as I broke the kiss, and Poe sighed loudly against my jaw. I felt my skin _tug_ at the sound of it–deep and painfully heartfelt, as though it had been dragged begrudgingly out of his chest. I pushed my hands into his hair, closing my eyes as Poe rubbed his face all over my cheek. He was breathing me in, touch lingering and achingly tender. Before I knew it, I wasn’t simply stroking his hair–I was _holding_ him, as Poe pressed his face against my neck. He had let go of my hips, and was now pressing me as close as I would go, arms wound up tight around my back.

«Think I might like you more than what’s wise» he grumbled, so low that I almost missed it. I scraped his nape, idly relishing the feeling of his thick curls around my fingers.

«And how much would be wise?» I whispered back, pressing my cheek against his soft hair. He felt so warm, like that, almost unbearably close.

I loosened my grip, as Poe slowly pulled back from my embrace. My hands had wrecked havoc on his hair, and his thick brows were furrowed under his tumbling black curls. He was looking at me with searching eyes, and there was a strange expression etched all over his face–as though he was looking at something that he had no hope to comprehend.

«With you? No idea» he replied, before crushing his mouth against mine. There was nothing languid in his touch, this time–he kissed me with a frenzied fury, tongue pushing in almost before our lips touched. He groaned, low and deep in his throat, as he felt the touch of my tongue alongside his own, and I recognized the lingering taste of alcohol in his mouth.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the savage hunger of the kiss. Poe loosened his grip just enough to cup my nape with his warm hand, a soft, almost reverent touch, at odds with the tight lock that his other arm was keeping around my waits. He was pressing his body into mine as far as it would go, almost bending me backwards with the strength of it. I cupped his face between my palms, and I kissed him back, nipping at his lips as his fingers trailed down my side.

There was a building momentum in those biting kisses, electricity winding up as my heart thumped almost painfully against my chest and a liquid heath pooled low in my belly. I could feel my skin _crawl_ with static energy, shivers trailing down my spine.

Poe groaned again as he broke the kiss, gasping wetly against my mouth. He pressed his nose against my jaw, and I took advantage of that little lull to snake my hands along his sides, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He let out a throaty mumble as I pushed my fingers underneath, skating up his belly. It was just as taut and warm as I remembered–soft skin stretched over quivering flesh, the hard ridges of his hipbones dipping beneath his waistband.

He was so taken with the breathless job of nosing his way up my cheek that I had to pull twice at his shirt to get his attention.

«Off» I ordered, when he finally pulled away just enough to land a slightly dazed look on my face. He smirked at my command, eyes immediately blinking into focus, and let me go barely enough to tug his shirt off. He cupped my face then, bending down to kiss me again.

It was with a little shock of surprise that I realised that I had never had the chance to touch his naked back before, as I snuck my hands around his sides and trailed my fingers along the bumps in his spine. It felt like a compact, wiry expanse under my palms, the skin unbearably warm. I let my hands explore the hard reliefs of his ribcage, the shifting ridges of his shoulder blades, bumping into the unmistakable shape of a bacta patch clinging to the wounded skin just beneath one of them.

Poe hummed in my mouth at the touch, and stroked his hand up and down my corset. It took me an embarrassing long moment to realise that he was trying to find a way to get it off without breaking the kiss.

I chuckled into his mouth, low and amused, as I pushed him away.

«It opens from the front» I informed him, smirking up at his slightly flustered face. He looked almost offended as he trailed his fingers along the front, eager and utterly focused.

«Never been with a diplomat before» he grumbled, as some sort of explanation. «Or not with one wearing so many layers, at least.»

«Huh?» I murmured vaguely, showing him how to open the little hooks that held my corset together. Quick in the catching up as always, Poe deftly unhooked the rest on his own. «Was she already naked?»

« _He_ » Poe corrected me, a little smirk playing on his face as he threw the corset over the padded chair of my vanity, right on top of his discharged shirt. That was interesting information, but not exactly surprising–I had seen how his pilots were looking at him, regardless of their sex. «Wasn’t quite naked, but he surely wasn’t wearing this kind of stuff.»

My spontaneous snort melted into a slightly trembling sigh, as Poe cupped my breasts with a look of wild, unadulterated hunger etched all over his expressive face. I could feel the warmth of his hands even through the silk, the pressure of his fingers digging into my flesh. I shuddered as my nipples grew responsive, peaking against the fabric.

«You are very naive to think that corsets are only restricted to women, when you talk about diplomatic robes» I replied, slightly out of breath. His touch was gentle, but firm, as Poe thumbed my hard nipples through the silk.

«Haven’t been to many fancy receptions - he informed me distractedly, focused as he was on the shape of my raised nipples under my clothes - Wouldn’t know.»

«You would be bored to death within ten minutes» I observed, gasping as he dug one of his thumbs in sensitive flesh. «The latch is behind my neck.»

Poe hummed under his breath in acknowledgement, but he didn’t seem to be in any rash to move on. His touch lingered for a moment longer, before finally reaching behind my back.

«How in heaven do you manage to squeeze yourself in these things?» he grumbled, fumbling for the tiny zip, which was concealed under a tight flap of silk. I snickered, as Poe managed to pull it down with a little grunt of satisfaction. The dress opened up behind my back, cool air brushing my skin.

«Best of my class» I chuckled, as Poe carefully peeled the dress off my arms. He paused, as I got naked down to my waist, but I wasn’t sure if he was puzzled by my gown or distracted by my naked breasts. A little bit of both, perhaps.

I pressed a hand square on his chest, pushing him back, as it became clear that he had no intention of carrying on with the job. He was already reaching for my naked breasts, and stumbled at the gentle but firm pressure on his breastbone.

«You are _not_ tramping all over my gown - I declared, shimming out of my dress - It’s Tinnelian gauze, and one of my favourite.»

I carefully laid my dress on the back of the chair, folding the gown so that it wouldn’t sweep the floor. Poe was staring at me in silence when I turned, eyes dark and roaming up and down my frame. I let him look for a while longer. I liked my body–it was lean enough to be nimble, but soft and shapely. The longs legs and the thin waist made up for the wide hips, and my skin was pale and delicate, almost transparent in places.

I climbed up the bed, shedding my grey slippers as I went, and looked back at him with a little smirk. I leaned back slightly, bracing myself on stretched arms. The bacta patches that I had applied to my bleeding scratches pulled at my skin as I moved.

«Am I more damaged than you thought?» I grinned, tilting my head slightly. My legs were dangling over the brim of the bed, toes grazing the cracked duracrete floor.

Poe blinked, reaching down to brush his fingers along my thigh. I was still wearing my panties, but they were such a slip of a thing, covering nothing–barely stretching over half of my arse.

«Not planning to sell you, yet» he replied, a little airily. I shivered at the touch, almost too light to be perceived, but as charged as the dark press of his eyes. With the way he was looking at me, I felt as though he was touching me everywhere.

«You should.» I stopped him with a hand on his chest, as he was trying to climb on the bed. «Take off the rest, first - I chided him, before carrying on - I am the daughter of a senator, I would fetch you a handsome price.»

«Is that so» Poe grumbled, struggling with his belt. I watched the flexing of his muscles as he moved, biceps bulging as he hurriedly unbuckled the offending piece of clothing and yanked it out of his trousers’ eyelets. Then, he attacked the top button of his waistband, thumbing it open and dragging down the zip to relieve the pressure on his bulging cock.

Such a lovely view, I thought–pity to spoil it with that much of a rush.

«Slowly, Poe - I chuckled, trying to soften the edge of my command with an amused tone - I am not going anywhere.»

Poe grumbled loudly in protest, but he slowed down, bending over with a flourish to unzip his left boot.

«That better?» he asked, taking off his boot and letting it dangle from his fingers as I appreciated the figure cut by his half-naked figure. He was even more handsome in full light, I decided–his chest was mottled with bruises, and there were a few bacta patches over his shoulders and along his ribs, as well as along his banged-up arm, but his tanned skin looked almost golden in the harsh light, and I could see every shift of muscles underneath, every ridge of bones.

My first impression had been right–Poe wasn’t particularly tall, but he was stocky, with large shoulders tapering down into a short, lean chest. I hummed my appreciation.

«Much better» I agreed, as Poe dropped the boot and worked to take off the other. «You know - I airily went on, feeling the brush of his breath on my naked knees as he bent down - My pale skin would sell well. It is considered a rarity, on some Outer Rim planets. Or so I heard.»

«Yeah? From some wet-on-the-nose cadet trying to pick you up in a Coruscanti high-end night club?» Poe grumbled, throwing the other boot to the side and not even bothering to check where it landed.

I shrugged.

«From the Crown-Prince of Tangenine, actually.»

«Handsome?»

«Kind of creepy. He tried to touch my face twice, in front of my father and half of Chandrila’s diplomats. He had very dark skin, though, almost jet-black. Really beautiful.» I smirked, as Poe made quick work of his trousers and threw them in the vague direction of my vanity. The hard shape of his hipbones, dipping down into his slate-grey briefs, caught my eyes. «I think he tried to buy me off. Father would not talk about him again, and the Crown-Prince disappeared from the diplomatic radar after that.»

I scuttled back on the mattress, in an obviously inviting gesture. Poe eagerly followed, climbing up the bed and ranging over me. I could see the thick shape of his cock through the cotton of his underwear, clinging to his narrow hips.

«How old were you?» he asked, kissing my lips and pushing me down. I went willingly, trailing my fingers along the ball of his shoulders as my back hit the mattress.

«Fourteen years old. It was a long time ago.»

Poe was hovering over my body now, on his hands and knees. Bracing himself on one arm, he trailed his fingers along my hair, spread on the pillow. I had taken off  almost all the jewellery, more concerned about losing it than getting some piece of metal stuck into my skin, but I had left my hanging earrings on.

«How long ago?» Poe asked.

I laughed, caressing his arms.

«Are you asking me how old I am, Poe? You should know better than that» I snickered, hands roaming along his collarbones and fingers tickling the sweet hollow of his throat. His skin was incredibly warm, smooth and addicting. I felt as though I would never tire of touching him.

Poe groaned at my barb, pressing his face against my shoulder for a second.

«Shit, I’ll never learn - he mumbled, but there was a laugh in his voice - I’m twenty-seven. There, I went first. That better?»

«It does not work like that - I chuckled, before threading my fingers back into his hair - It was ten cycles ago.»

«Ten years» Poe repeated, warm breath tickling my skin. His lips were soft and slightly wet, as he pressed a slow kiss to my collarbone. «You met many princes in all that time?»

I scratched his nape, idly enjoying the silky texture of his hair under my hand as Poe trailed kisses along my neck. They were soft and strangely unhurried, given how naked we were. It felt jarringly intimate, and a little disorienting–but I liked it, against all odds.

«A few.»

I hummed my approval, as Poe lowered himself fully against my body. He felt warm and solid and smooth against my skin, a cascade of sensory inputs where muscles and bones pressed down on my tender flesh. I could feel how hard he was, too–a long line of heath squeezed between his belly and the delicate hollow between my crotch and hipbone. I shifted slightly under his weight, dragging a low grumble out of his throat. I curled an arm around his waist, the other hand still firmly planted against his nape. His lose curls were tickling my jaw and the lower side of my cheek, and his free hand was trailing softly against my naked side, up and down, from ribs to hip.

«And you never thought about taking one of them to your bed?» Poe asked, scraping his teeth against my neck and dragging a shudder out of me. The touch distracted me enough to delay my answer, and Poe seemed to take my silence the wrong way. His face came back into focus, as he searched my eyes with furrowed brows. «Not judging or anything, I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.»

I blinked, trying to understand why he should be judging whether I took a man to my bed or not. I couldn’t come up with anything that made sense, but I was naked and Poe felt delicious against my skin, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood for an explanation about the strange fixations those people seemed to have about sex. I caressed his bruised face with both hands instead, pushing his hair back and stroking his smooth cheeks. Such a handsome specimen indeed.

«It seemed such a terrible waste of time» I answered, thumbing his cheekbones and grazing his lips. «I preferred trailing after Father than sneaking out with some boring prince. They could do little that I could not do myself, while there was always something that I could learn from him. He is twice the diplomat that I could ever aspire to be. Rolling in bed with some stranger could hardly be more interesting than watching him at work.»

Poe had a half-smirk plastered over his face, by the time I was finished with my little speech. His hand was idly stroking my arm, and his chest was brushing against my raised nipples.

«That only means that you never tried it» he replied, bending his head to trail kisses along my jaw, up to my ear. I didn’t expect him to suck the lobe into his mouth, and I shivered at the gentle pressure of teeth. «There’s more to sex than just pushing the right buttons to get to the end line.»

I chuckled, breath catching into my throat as Poe snuck his hand between our bodies and cupped roughly one of my naked breasts. His fingers were careful but unrelenting against my peaked nipple, dragging a string of shudders out of me as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger while his palm pressed against the swell of my breast.

«Yes, human contact. I have heard all about that» I scoffed back, stroking his shoulders aimlessly as Poe kept sucking and tugging with his teeth at my lobe. «It also brings human personalities to the table, and I had no time to waste on such things. Besides, I am not completely inexperienced. I did kiss boys. It just did not feel like something worthy of my time.»

«You haven’t been kissed right, then.»

I rolled my eyes at the corny reply. It was so predictable.

«Yes, and I am sure you will rectify that presently. Really, your arrogance is astounding.»

Poe lifted his head just enough to aim a wicked grin at me.

«Just astounding? I’m barely your match, then» he drawled, and that was all the warning I got before his mouth crashed onto mine. The sudden kiss punched a surprised mumble out of my throat, and Poe took advantage of the slight parting of my lips to push in his tongue. It was a slow kiss, dirty and intimate in a way that pooled heath low in my belly. I was so caught up in the deep drag of his tongue that I registered the shifting of his body only when his hips slotted into place between my thighs.

I gasped in the kiss, as I felt the hot, hard length of his still-clothed cock pressing down against my folds, barely covered by the thin layer of my lacy panties. I had to spread my legs wide open to accommodate his hips, reflexively bending them at the knees to make more room between my splayed thighs, but that had meant exposing even more the over-sensitized, defenceless flesh in between. I could feel every shift of his body straight into my very core, like an earthquake, clothed cock pressing down between my folds in tortuously slow touches. I wanted, I _needed_ more.

I surged up into the kiss, grabbing a fistful of black hair as I nipped at his lower lip. Poe groaned against my mouth, cock twitching between my thighs, and I used the handful of black locks trapped into my fist to pull him back.

«You want to show me? - I hissed into his face, lips so close that skin dragged on skin at every word - Then do it.»

«Patience ain’t your strong suit, huh - Poe gasped, hips stuttering against mine in a half-hearted thrust that punched a gasp out of my lips - Bad weakness, for a politician.»

«Do _not_ presume to teach me how to do my job» I spat back, pulling roughly at his hair as I locked his hips between my thighs. «You wanted to impress me. Very well. I am waiting.»

«Always complaining. You’re a demanding one, you know that?» Poe panted against my mouth, hips slowly starting to grind down against defenceless flesh. I groaned, low and primeval, as the heavy drag sparked ribbons of electricity along my spine. «But that’s ok. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.»

I pulled at his hair again, startling a hiss out of him, as his hips picked up a steady pace. He was grinding down into me the same way he had been kissing me, deep and slow and thorough, clothed cock dragging between my fold and against my clit in smooth but unrelenting thrusts.

«I am Helana Seras, - I snarled, forcing my shallow breath to slow down just enough to make my voice steady - and you will not talk of me as though I was nothing more than a stubborn, ill-trained animal.»

Poe’s hips stuttered in a powerful thrust, control fraying at the edges, as he let out a breathless chuckle right against my cheek. The sudden spark of pleasure, deep and wet and electrifying, tore a groan out of my mouth. I wasn’t so much grabbing Poe as holding onto him now, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder and pulling at his hair so tight that it had to be painful, but I heard no protest coming.

«But that’s exactly what you are - Poe all but _purred_ , straight into my ear - And you know it. That’s what you’ve been hiding all along, isn’t it? Your precious manners, all those diplomatic niceties that you struggle so hard to use, just to hide the fact that you’re just like us, deep down. A human being. An _animal_.»

My thoughts were scattered, my mind unfocused, as my heart beat like a drum into my chest and my skin felt as if it was about to melt straight off my bones, wet and sizzling hot. I growled against his jaw, sinking my teeth in the hard ridge of bone as Poe’s hips drove with almost painful strength along the drenched skin of my fold. I was wet between my thighs, wetter than I had ever been, and I knew it.

«I am _nothing_ like you» I spat back, thighs locking vice-like onto his sides as Poe shifted his weight, pushing his knees under him to gain more traction. He was crowding me against the mattress now, splayed legs encasing my hips and body pressed down on my own so tightly that I didn’t know where he started and where I ended anymore. «I am not a damn pilot. I will never be. Never. Do you hear me? _Never_.»

Poe groaned into my neck, dragging his nose along my skin as he panted wetly between thrusts. He was still fondling my breast, even if he lacked the coordination to keep up the merciless teasing of my over-sensitive nipple, but the drag of his chest against my peaked flesh was more than enough. I moaned, wetly and begrudgingly, against the sweat-soaked skin of his temple. I was almost bent in half, knees hooked over both his hips and feet dangling over his arse, bumping against his hard flesh at each maddening thrust.

« _Here_ you are. That’s you, that’s all you» Poe groaned, almost helplessly, as his hips stuttered into a frenzied, sharp rhythm, sinking into me almost painfully. I could feel heat rising into my belly, the drag against my clit and the way he seemed to be touching me _everywhere_ , like water in a lake, mixing with his straining voice and his merciless words into an explosive compound.

«You’re good at lying, but you ain’t that good yet - he went on, voice breaking - I _saw_ you. When I picked you up on Chandrila, the way you looked at me, I saw. I disgusted you, didn’t I?»

I strained to hear, his gasping voice almost drowned by the ferocious thumping of my heart. I could feel heath rising into my belly like a hot spring, electricity coiling low between my legs. I was about to come, and Poe was still thrusting, still talking, merciless and unrelenting and true to the very end.

«You were hiding so much that I almost aborted the mission right then and there. You hated me, and I didn’t know if it was because I was Resistance, because I was a pilot, or because of me. I couldn’t figure you out. But then we crashed on Rokran and I knew, I knew what you were.» His lips touched my ear, a strangely delicate counterpoint to the tightly leashed violence of his thrusts. «Lofty, dismissive, stubborn to a fault, spoiled without saving, controlling and prideful. You like to play games, and you like it even more when you can rig the odds. You like winning, no matter the cost. You have a devious mind, and you ain’t that calm underneath. I can feel anger roiling just under your skin.»

«You are the one to talk - I gasped back, as I felt the tide of my orgasm rise into my blood, each thrust bringing me a little closer, pushing me a little higher - You, reckless, witless, boorish, insufferable pilot. Obsessed with your mission and too arrogant to understand that piloting a damn ship is not the only thing worthy of consideration in the world. How _dare_ you criticise me?»

Poe pressed his forehead against mine, and time seemed to stop at the touch, grounding me into that moment, grounding me into the first sparks of the orgasm that was already licking up my spine as my body seized up under him.

«Here it is - Poe whispered, breath ghosting against my mouth - The animal within.»

The words washed over me like a tide, orgasm hitting me like a full-throttled speeder. I arched my back under him, muscles and joints locking up, sparks trailing along my nerves. Poe didn’t let up–he kept thrusting against my oversensitive clit, between viciously and helplessly, grunts and groans mingling with my keening moans. He milked every last drop of my orgasm out of me, until it was almost too much, shivers racking through my body like waves, and then finally - _finally_ \- he came with a pained groan. He gave a few more half-hearted thrusts, shuddering through his orgasm as he pressed his nose against my cheek, and stopped with a trembling sigh. His body seemed to melt over mine, muscles and joints loosening up, and I distantly realised that I was holding him now, mindlessly stroking the soft hair on his nape as he panted for breath against my skin.

I had no idea how long we stayed like that, holding each other and gasping wetly in the hushed silence of the room. We stayed long enough for our skin to cool down a little, and for our breaths to normalize. Eventually, I came to realise that Poe’s face was pressed against the crook of my neck, and that I was resting my cheek against his dark locks. He was still holding my breast in his palm, and I was cradling his hips between my thighs.

Predictably, I was the first to move. Poe seemed content enough to lie like that indefinitely, but I wasn’t that comfortable with what had just happened–in particular, with how close to the mark his words had hit. Poe had pinned me down with distressfully accuracy, and I didn’t like that in the slightest.

Shifting slightly under him was enough to get his attention. With a pained grunt, Poe let go of my breast and planted both his elbows on the mattress, pushing himself up. He still looked vaguely dazed, but his eyes were sharp as they locked onto mine.

«I’m not crushing you, right?» Poe braced his weight on one elbow, stroking my cheek a little warily. «I can move, if you want.»

I considered the option, but eventually I dismissed it. Strange as it sounded, it wasn’t the proximity that bothered me. He still felt wonderful against my naked skin, warm and lovely and alive.

«You can stay» I conceded. I was still stroking his hair, soft and slightly damp with sweat. «I do not mind.»

Poe hummed under his breath -a noncommittal, rumbling sound-, searching my face. He stroked his thumb against my temple, unwittingly grazing a bruise. He startled when I recoiled from his touch, and then sighed lowly.

«Of course, I forgot about the bruises. They’re hidden well.»

There was something strange in his voice, something almost wistful. I frowned, as what he had said before came back to nag at me.

«Better than the rest, apparently» I snapped, letting go of his hair. Now that I wasn’t touching him anymore, I had no clue about what to do with my hands, so I let them hang awkwardly over the mattress.

Poe let out a sigh, shaking his head.

«I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me, I’m not… like that. Usually. That was unfair and uncalled for, and sure as hell untimely. I apologize.»

«I told you once already, I do not require apologies for the truth.»

«Was it, though?» Poe immediately asked, and when I levelled a confused gaze at him, he elaborated: «The truth, I mean. What I said. Was it the truth?»

I scoffed, moving my head just enough to shake off the hand that was still trailing gently along my cheek.

«Does it matter? That is how you see me. It is the truth for you, obviously. Is that not enough?»

«Of course it matters - Poe replied, face scrunched up in an unhappy scowl - I don’t usually accuse people without giving them a chance to defend themselves.»

«I was not aware that you were accusing me of something» I bit back. The conversation was irritating me, but I welcomed the feeling. I preferred to be annoyed at Poe than disappointed at myself. «Being arrogant and controlling was not a capital offence in the New Republic, last time I checked.»

Poe gave an exasperated sigh, before cupping my cheek into the palm of his hand and peering steadily into my eyes.

«Why do you have to be so difficult? I was trying to apologise.»

«And I said, you are not required to do so. You did not say anything that was not true, and I did the same.»

«I…» Poe started. I could see the moment in which my words truly registered, and Poe’s dark eyes shot wide open. «What do you mean, you did the same?! I thought you were angry! I thought…»

«I _was_ angry. I was also telling the truth. The two are not mutually exclusive.»

«I’m not _witless_! - Poe protested - I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of coming up with viable plans. And I’m not _obsessed_ , I’m _passionate_!»

I couldn’t hold back a wicked smirk, as I looked up at his affronted face.

«As though they were such different concepts» I replied, trailing my fingers along his sides. The tides were shifting again, and I was getting back the upper hand. That was enough to make me feel better already. «And I remember your _planning_. Throwing a speeding vehicle into a corridor is not a plan, unless you like to plan your crashes in advance.»

«You’re… This…» Poe groaned out loud, then pressed his face against my cheek. «You’re _impossible_!»

«You keep saying that - I airily replied, stroking his back with idle fingers - But it was not me who decided that berating me during sex was a good idea.»

«I already apologised for that!» Poe huffed, sneaking his free hand under my nape to cradle my head against his shoulder. I allowed it, splaying both my hands against his back and holding him close. «And you said I didn’t need to apologise for the truth.»

«It was not the truth the problem, it was the moment» I pointed out, before letting it go with a little shrug. His warmth was enveloping me completely, and I kept my eyes closed, breathing him in as his steady hand against my skull kept my temple pressed against his cheek. «But it does not matter. I am getting used to your horrible sense of timing.»

Poe grumbled against my neck, nosing his way up to my ear. He didn’t seem particularly eager to carrying on with that particular conversation either.

«I can’t believe I came into my underwear like a blasted teenager» he said instead, peppering my jaw with idle kisses. «It’s been years since the last time.»

«You did not seem particularly willing to wait, not even for the time it would take to get your pants off - I replied, with another little shrug - I am nothing if not accommodating. And _impatient_ , apparently.»

Poe let out another groan, full of exasperation.

«I can never win with you - he mumbled - And you don’t deserve what I had in mind.»

«Which would be…?»

The mischievous smirk was back, as Poe lifted his face from my neck just enough to search my eyes.

«Wouldn’t you want to know?»

«I am more concerned than excited, if that is what you were aiming for - I scoffed - You would crash the bed, if it had an engine.»

Poe’s eyes were twinkling, as he delicately lowered my head back onto the pillow.

«I could try either way.»

Rolling my eyes in absolute contempt for the cheesiness of that line felt particularly satisfying, knowing that Poe was looking at me.

«If you are waiting for me to ask about this wondrous idea of yours, prepare yourself to be sorely disappointed.»

Poe chuckled with unmistakable delight at my frosty reply, but I was getting used to his nonsensical reactions. He trailed his fingers down my side, the feather-light touch dragging a shiver out of me. He was teasing me, that much was obvious, but there was nothing teasing in the way his broad palm curled possessively around the swell of my hip. Even if I had slackened my hold around him just enough to lay my feet flat on the mattress, my legs were still bent at the knees, and his fingers curled up easily against my side, fingertips grazing the soft skin of my arse.

«I’d like to take these off» he said, thumbing the lacy string of my panties right where it stretched over the jutting ridge of my hipbone. His voice was low, almost liquid in the silence. «I want to see you. I want to touch you– _all_ of you.»

The mood had switched so abruptly that I was struggling to catch up. There was a new, strange seriousness to Poe’s tone that I couldn’t understand. I frowned, lifting a hand to push a black curl off his bruised face, while I held him close with the other. I tucked the silky strand behind his ear, and brushed the line of his jaw. The skin was shaved closely there, but there was still a hint of roughness around the edges, like the ghost of a scruff.

«I’d like to use my mouth on you - Poe went on, voice down to almost a whisper - I’d like to give you pleasure.»

He was waiting for my permission, I realised, as I blinked confusedly at his serious face. His hooded eyes were dark and intent, utterly focused on me. The sizzling hunger had retreated somewhere deeper, coating a layer of glazed calm over the black irises, but embers were still burning underneath the surface.

I brought both hands to his shoulders, cupping his neck between my palms and treading my fingers through the softer curls trailing down his nape. The skin felt warmer there, the tendons and muscles and bones underneath oddly delicate. I let my eyes wander, from the bruises littering his face to the little dip right above his upper lip, to the very first lines that started to frame his cheeks. The artificial lights of the compound made everything sharper, and I realised that he had thicker lashes than many girls I had met.

The moment felt so hushed that I loathed breaking the silence.

«Alright» I murmured, thumbing the sweet dips just below his cheekbones. I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to, but one thing I knew–I was giving over control, and for once in my life I didn’t feel threatened by it. I knew what was going to happen, of course, I wasn’t _that_ ignorant, but knowing the main points and having experienced them were very different things. I knew what Poe was about to do, but I didn’t know how I would feel, on more levels than one, and that meant a loss of control that I would have tolerated with difficulty, with another partner. But I trusted Poe, as absurd as that sounded. I had trusted him with my life, in those caves. Trusting him now with a risible amount of control didn’t seem such a tremendous stretch. And I _knew_ that I could always snatch my control back, if needed. He would never deprive me of that.

Moreover, Poe had trusted me with the same kind of control, not a long time before. Returning the favour seemed the right thing to do.

Poe searched my face for a moment longer, before nodding slowly to himself, mouth turning upward into a beaming smile.

«Alright» he repeated, word almost lost in the slow press of his lips against mine. He kissed me over and over, tongue slipping lazily into my mouth at every kiss.

I could feel his hand stroking idly the underside of my thigh, as we exchanged unhurried, shallow kisses. It wasn’t much of a touch, but now that we weren’t rushing anymore I could appreciate the novelty of it, the little sparks that his fingers seemed to light over my skin. I had never let anyone touch me like that, just like no one had ever taken the time to kiss me that way, and I could admit some merits to the experience. The drag of skin on skin was delicious, and the way Poe was idly licking into my mouth was setting off ribbons of electricity along my spine. The post-coital haze of my earlier orgasm was well and truly gone, and a new sort of tension was slowly unravelling low in my belly.

The last kiss Poe gave me was longer, deeper than the others. It left me light-headed, breath shallow and heart pounding in my chest as Poe’s wet lips brushed my chin and trailed down my neck, pausing at the vulnerable hollow of my throat before moving lower. The change in position caused Poe’s entire body to shift, dragging heavily against me as he repositioned himself a little further down the bed. I sucked in a breath at the friction between my thighs, legs spread wider to accommodate the thickness of his chest, and Poe shot me a mischievous look, as the tip of his pointed tongue licked down between my breasts. That was before the swell of my soft flesh redirected his attention entirely, and Poe seemed unable to do anything but stare at my breasts, as he cupped them in both hands.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. His thumbs felt rough against my over-sensitive skin, but the touch was delicate, and a few swipes and pulls were enough to harden my peaked nipples. Poe hummed under his breath at the sight, and threw me a quick glance. Whatever he saw in my face seemed to bring a crooked smile to his face, but it was a soft, warm smile, so I let it pass. I cradled his skull in my palm as Poe lowered his head just enough to kiss my chest, right were the flesh swelled into one of my breasts.

There was a deep, almost wary gentleness to his touch. Poe was handling me as though I was something precious, something fragile, and where the same caution had felt jarring and threatening, in a moment when I was already feeling powerless, it didn’t turn out as grating now that I was once again in control of myself and my surroundings. I didn’t feel undermined by it–I felt pleased, and subtly flattered. There was an unmistakable shade of devotion to it, and I realised that I didn’t mind in the slightest being worshipped.

The treacherous instinct to tip my head back and enjoy the pressure of Poe’s rough lips against my breasts was rising into my body, but I fought the pull, keeping my eyes trained on him. Poe stared right back, eyes dark and full of intent under the black curls tumbling down his forehead. My breath sped up as he kissed his way up to my nipple, licking the areola with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. I tightened my grip on his nape, digging my nails into soft flesh, and Poe hummed softly his appreciation as he used the flat of his tongue to press my peaked nipple against his teeth.

It was such a strange sight, seeing someone so close to my flesh–so strange that it felt almost as if it was someone else’s body that Poe was touching, kissing, and biting gently with sharp, sharp teeth. I observed with a queer sense of detachment the way my breast stretched, as Poe pulled at my nipple, and quivered back into place as he let it go. I felt soft in a strange, foreign way as Poe swiped his thumb against my damp nipple, eyelids fluttering close as he pressed a string of gentle kisses along the underside of my breast.

I let go of his nape, as he slid further down. My hands hovered for a moment over my stomach with unnerving uncertainty, before I laid them on the coverlet. Poe aimed a searching glance at me, to which I replied with a furrowed brow. I had no need to be coddled, whatever he thought. I surrendered to the pull of my body and tipped back my head, staring at the cracked ceiling of the compound as Poe nosed and kissed his way down. He was still cradling one of my breasts in his hand, but he had slipped the other along my side. Now it was squeezing the tender flesh of my thigh, just underneath the swell of my arse.

I sighed, closing my eyes and blotting out the huge crack that run through the ceiling, as Poe nipped gently at the puckered flesh of my navel. I could feel the warmth of his breath and the sharpness of his teeth like a shiver down my spine, liquid and electric. I was allowing him to touch me however he pleased, to handle me without the slightest hint of control on my part, without even watching him with sharp eyes as he manipulated my body, and I decided that that was an experience to savour in itself. I would never be that inexperienced again, and I didn’t know if I would ever trust another human being quite the same way I was trusting Poe right then and there, including Poe himself. There was a hushed peace to the experience, as I let my mind drift and my body sing, under the gentle touch of Poe’s hands and lips.

I bit back a moan as Poe tongued my navel, licking deep inside the folds of skin while he idly thumbed my nipple. It was a weird feeling, different from anything else I had ever experienced before. Poe took his time, nipping and licking at my navel as he grabbed my thighs in both hands, palming the underside and slipping his fingers under the hem of my panties, grazing the soft skin of my arse.

I was grasping at the coverlet, I realised vaguely, distracted as I was by the soft kisses that Poe was peppering under my navel. His lips were roaming freely from hipbone to hipbone, gentle and sweet where his callous hands were squeezing my thighs almost too harshly–a dizzying contrast that shot a ribbon of shivers down my spine, just as Poe slipped his hands completely under my panties and palmed my arse.

«Off?» he enquired, voice a little rough as his lips caught against my skin and dragged out another shudder. I forced my lids to crack open, looking down at him, nested as he was between my thighs.

«Off» I agreed, and Poe rewarded me with another kiss, just above the hem of my panties. Then the weight of his body was gone, and he was sliding my panties off my legs, throwing them on the floor behind his back. He paused then, taking me in with sharp eyes, almost completely black. They seemed incapable of holding onto one colour, shifting from warmer tones to darker hues depending on the way they caught the light. It was a phenomenon almost hypnotic to witness, making my green eyes seem dull and lifeless in comparison.

I stared back at him, admiring his compact frame as he looked me up and down. He was getting hard again, but the bulging muscles in his thighs as he propped himself up on a tense kneeling position was enough to distract me from the swelling in his briefs.

Poe placed his palms on my knees, and ran them along my raised thighs as he lowered himself down. I sighed happily as he kissed me again just below my navel, but my breath was cut short as I felt his hand push between my legs, and curious fingers probe between my folds. He groaned then, low and rumbling, as he pressed his face against my belly and explored my hot flesh with excruciatingly slow strokes.

«You shave - he grumbled, so close to my flesh that I struggled to understand his warbled words - Fuck. You’re so smooth. So delicate. Such a soft skin.»

I frowned at the awe in his voice. I was aware that it was a vast galaxy, and not every planet shared Chandrilan customs, but it annoyed me that he might have entertained the notion, even for a moment, that I could be less than perfectly groomed.

«I do not shave - I corrected him, blinking at the ceiling as the slow drag of his lips right above my mound shattered my concentration over and over - I had all my body hairs removed when I was fourteen years old. No one on Chandrila would think about _keeping_ them.»

Poe hummed under his breath, seizing a patch of smooth skin between his teeth and pulling lightly at it. His eyes were twinkling, when I looked down at him. I could see the shadow of a smirk on his mouth.

«I see. Hadn’t realised how... widespread that was.»

He was making little sense, but I didn’t care enough to ask for an explanation. He was still stroking me, fingers skating over my opening and reaching lower. My heart crashed almost painfully against my ribcage as he caught the rim of the puckered hole between my cheeks, before moving up again.

«So wet - Poe murmured, propping himself up on one elbow as he bit down on my hipbone - So hot.» I groaned, reflexively reaching up to grab his hair as he hooked his finger into my opening, forcing my walls to give as he pushed it carefully inside. «So tight.»

«So articulate» I gasped back, and Poe snorted a breathless laugh against my lower belly as he fucked me slowly with his finger. It felt nothing like doing it on my own, and I wasn’t sure if it was Poe or if it was the much fabled human contact that made the difference, but I resolved to investigate the issue on a later date. Perhaps when I wasn’t struggling for breath, each thrust of his finger punching a gasp out of me.

«Sorry, can’t remember the Constitution of the New Republic right now» Poe chuckled, peppering my mound with kisses. He flicked his thumb across my clit, and I shuddered under him, pleasure rocking through my body. I pulled at his hair, viciously, and Poe groaned as his eyes turned darker.

«But I bet you could describe the engine of an X-Wing without even making an effort» I bit back, and Poe laughed out loud this time, even if the sound had teeth and claws.

« _You uncultured swine_ \- he grinned, finger twisting inside of me as his thumb worked mercilessly at my clit - Too polite to say it, but I could hear it anyway.»

I moaned, back arching against my will under the strain of the electric pleasure sparking from my stimulated clit. I was panting in his hands, gulping air in shallow, shuddering breaths.

«You. Uncultured. Swine» I ground out, as Poe tilted his head and sank his teeth into my inner thigh. I yanked at his hair hard enough to hurt, and Poe groaned around the tender flesh he had pulled into his mouth. «Here. Not so polite, after all.»

«My, my, Ambassador. My delicate sensibilities are hurt» Poe growled, licking at the bruise he had sucked into my skin. He bit down again, hard. I yelped, unwittingly pushing my hips against the finger still penetrating me. He was losing some of his devastating coordination, but he was still fucking his finger tortuously into me, and I could feel a discharge of electricity every time his thumb flicked at my clit.

«I was not aware you had sensibilities that could be hurt» I spat out, and Poe chuckled again. I could feel the warmth whoosh of his breath against the bruise he still was mercilessly working on.

«You don’t know me that well, Ambassador. I’m a sensitive man.»

«And I am not an Ambassador.»

«Sorry - Poe chuckled, lifting his dark eyes on me from his crouched position between my thighs - Helana.»

My name sounded different, coming from his lips right then and there. I disliked the feeling, and pulled his hair in retaliation. Poe didn’t seem to mind, and nosed gently at the reddish bruise that was blooming on my thigh.

«You are going to leave a mark» I said instead, my hold onto his hair turning gentle against my will. Poe pressed his cheek against the bruise, looking serious for a change.

«’m hoping to.»

I felt something deep, something uncomfortable surge into my chest at that. I didn’t know what it was, and I surely didn’t want it. That journey had changed me more than enough already. I didn’t need other epiphanies.

«You will have to work a lot harder, then» I bit back, disliking the way my snappish retort was softened by the way my fingers were woven into his black curls, gently massaging his scalp instead than pulling at his hair.

Poe’s answering grin could have lit a small space station, as he resumed the pumping of his finger between my thighs. I panted, as I felt the pressure of a second finger push inside, forcing my walls to accommodate it. His fingers were a lot thicker than mine, I though, as I felt the stretch so deeply into my core that for a moment I couldn’t place where he was touching and penetrating me anymore.

«’m on it, Ambassador» he chuckled, and my protest - _Stop calling me that!_ \- was cut short before it reached my lips by the galvanizing feeling of his tongue against my clit. I fought and lost to keep a deep, almost pained moan in, as it left my lips in a cascade of shuddering pleasure. Poe didn’t lose any time, and before I could adjust to the touch he was sucking my clit into his mouth, scraping it with his teeth and flicking his tongue against it.

My panting sounded unbearably loud in the silence of the room, but as Poe kept working at my clit with commendable enthusiasm, I struggled to remember why I should have reproached myself for it. I was yanking at the coverlet with one hand, while the touch on his hair had remained strangely tender–an absentminded stroking, more than vicious pulling. It felt so soft between my fingers, so warm, like the pelt of a wild animal I had brought to heel. I gasped out loud, even as I smiled to myself. I liked that image.

I wasn’t prepared for the sensation of his tongue licking into me, and it tore a groan out of my throat. He was keeping me spread open between his middle and forefinger, as he fucked his tongue inside with ruthless purpose. I could feel his warm breath on my mound, and my skin was shuddering with the discharges of unbearable pleasure that kept rolling inside of me. It was too good, and too much. I could feel it in limbs, in my fingers, in my face, like a spreading, electric numbness tingling just underneath the skin. I knew I was moaning, loud and shocked and helpless, but I couldn’t help it–I barely registered it, as I fucked myself onto his tongue with sharp twists of my hips that had no input whatsoever from my higher brain.

The orgasm hit me like a freight train, starting from my curled toes and spreading like wildfire through my entire body. It left me breathless, dazzled, heart thumping wildly into my chest while my skin felt tingling and numb at the same time.

I struggled to come down from my high, and the stubborn way Poe kept sucking at my clit wasn’t helping. I gave a full-body jolt as he rolled the overstimulated nub of flesh against his tongue, and I pulled at his hair more sharply than I had meant to.

«Stop. Too much. Stop» I panted, shuddering under him. Poe lifted his head with bright eyes and a crooked smile painted over his shiny, abused lips. He looked annoyingly self-satisfied, but I was too worn out to grumble when he pulled up and kissed me sweetly on the mouth. I hadn’t really felt him slip his fingers out, but he was caressing my flank now, slow and tender, as he used his other hand to prop himself up. I closed my eyes, allowing the touch as I listened to the slowing down of my rabid heartbeat, while a thin sheen of sweat coated my overheated skin.

I had no idea how long we stayed like that, but Poe was still peppering my lips with close-mouthed little kisses when my eyelids finally flickered open. He was lying over me, body warm and soft pressed tight against mine.

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling to come back to, as my brain snapped back into gear. I was still panting, trying to catch my breath, but Poe didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He looked perfectly happy to be hard, or half-hard -I was too inexperienced to tell- in his dirty underwear, kissing my lips and fondling my breasts. I felt him smile against my mouth, as I finally kissed him back.

«You’re louder than I thought» he smirked, nuzzling at my cheek.

I scoffed, pulling at his hair in retaliation. I hadn’t realised it until then, but my fingers were still interwoven into his silky black curls.

«It is the room - I grumbled, indignation flaming up high at being branded as _loud_ \- It is too empty. Sounds carry.»

Poe chuckled against my cheek, hand squeezing lightly around my breast.

«Right. It’s the room’s fault.»

«It _is_ » I protested, struggling to get up.

«Yeah, sure.»

Not only Poe didn’t make a move to free me, but didn’t even budge at my attempts to push him away. He nuzzled at my cheek instead, then kissed it.

«It _is_ the room, and will you just let me go?» I snapped, yanking harder at his hair. Poe barely bothered to grumble, pressing his nose against my cheek.

«I was right - he mumbled, moving only to clutch me even tighter into his arm, as though I was a blasted human pillow - You can _never_ relax. Not even after an orgasm.»

I scoffed again, batting at his bruised forearm. The slapping sound startled another grumble out of him, but it didn’t improve my situation.

«You give way too much credit to your talents, Commander» I replied frostily, struggling to free myself from his grip. «And we are not done yet.»

That seemed to do the trick.

«We ain’t?» Poe asked, perking up, suddenly interested. So predictable.

«It is not my habit to do things halfway» I answered, finally managing to wriggle myself free. «Take those things off, and have sex with me properly.»

«You don’t do sex _properly_ » Poe grinned back, bracing himself on his elbow and propping his head up with his palm against his cheek. «Sex should be fun and filthy and _un_ proper. That’s the point of it.»

«The word you are looking for is _im_ proper» I corrected him, ignoring his giggling _you uncultured swine_. «And you know what I mean.»

Poe turned serious, or at least a good approximation of serious, as he bent down slightly to kiss the ball of my shoulder. He reached out with his free hand then, placing it square on my belly. It was incredibly warm against my skin, and I realised how cool the air felt, now that the thin sheen of sweat I had worked off during our activities had dried up.

«Yeah, I know what you mean» he answered, idly tracing nonsensical patterns along my belly and down my side with the tips of his fingers. «But we _did_ have sex. Proper, improper, whatever. That was sex. We could have more of that, if you’d like. Or sleep. We have no obligations, you know.»

I arched a brow. I had no idea what he was raving about, but my patience was running out. It was getting late, and I meant to get some sleep before I set out to explore the compound the morning after.

«Then I would like to have your cock inside of me, if that will not cause you too much trouble» I said crisply, trying to make things as clear and simple as possible. I hadn’t foreseen the need to be so unseemly blunt twice in one evening, but Poe seemed a little slow on the catching up at times. He appeared to approach sex the same way he approached flying–with little planning and even less timing in applying the brakes.

Poe did nothing to disprove my misgivings, as he froze on the spot and stared at me with wide eyes. I had had high hopes my words might spur him into action, but he just lay there like a human-shaped pillow, unblinking and stunned into silence. The hand that had traced nonsensical patterns around my navel was now lying motionless on my belly, warm and heavy, and his parted lips looked softer than they felt as he unconsciously licked them.

That simple motion seemed to break the spell. Poe blinked once, twice, then he frowned slightly and cleared his throat–the touch of his hand against my belly growing a little heavier as he tried to clear his head by looking away. I watched in fascination as the web of scratch and bruises marking his handsome face shifted slightly under the electric light, half-hidden under the cascade of black curls that a thin sheen of sweat was gluing to his forehead.

«I’m leaving» Poe eventually managed to push out, voice low and somewhat uncertain. He took a deep breath, chest expanding and drawing my gaze to his small, dark nipples. The memory of the cave, of sucking one of them into my mouth and milking the sweetest sounds out of his throat, came unbidden into my mind. I was reaching out before I could even finish forming the thought, pressing the back of my hand against his sternum just as Poe added, more gravely: «Tomorrow.»

I trailed my hand lightly against his throat, tracing with my fingertips the raised profile of the stiff tendon on his neck. I felt his heartbeat against my thumb, and spotted a vein jump on his arm. His skin wasn’t as soft as mine, but it was smooth, and so very warm.

«You are leaving?» I asked, since it seemed only polite to do so. Moreover, Poe didn’t seem amenable to carry on until he had said his piece, and I was nothing if not accommodating.

Poe shook his head slightly, displacing the black curls sticking to his forehead.

«For a mission - he replied, breath quivering slightly as I stroked his neck and moved to the ball of his shoulder - It’s important. Can’t tell you more than that.»

«I thought you were going to take me back to Coruscant. That is what my father said.»

«I know» Poe said, sounding truly regretful as he took hold of my hand and kissed my knuckles. The gesture distracted me entirely from my exploring, and I blinked his face back into focus. I hadn’t expected him to do something so oddly old-fashioned, and I didn’t really know what to make of the strange sweetness that came with it. «Someone else will fly you home. I’m sorry, Helana, but I can’t stay.»

«I see - I replied, taking my hand away - Do you have to go right now, then?»

Poe seemed confused for a moment, as he laid his hand on the coverlet.

«What? No, tomorrow. I can stay the night.» He looked at me somewhat uncertainly, as he added: «If you want me to.»

Now we were both confused.

«Of course I want you to» I answered, wondering where he had picked up the notion that I did _not_ want him to stay. I wasn’t sure how more clear I could be about my intentions, and I surely hoped he wouldn’t need schematics to carry out the task. «I do not understand what else could possibly confuse you about that, by now. I think I have been more than explicit about my wishes.»

Poe seemed to be at a loss, for a moment. I could see him work out the problem in his mind, thick black brows drawn together in a frown as he stared at me with something annoyingly close to _exasperation_. If anyone had the right to find that discussion aggravating, I thought, it would be me. Why would anyone in the galaxy try to make something that simple so complex and irritating I could never understand.

«I... I don’t usually have sex with someone and leave» Poe eventually found the strength to explain. «I don’t want you to think that’s because of you. Especially since you’ve never done this before.»

He was losing me, just as I was about to lose my patience.

«You are not making any sense. Why would I ever think you left because of me?»

Poe blinked, obviously struggling for an answer, before deflating with a long-suffering sigh. I resented the sentiment, and I aimed a withering glare at him to make sure he knew it.

«Of course - Poe mumbled, rubbing a hand against his face - _Chandrilans_.»

I scoffed, rising into a sit so that I could look down at him.

«Do not say it like that. It is everybody else that makes no sense.»

Poe took my command as he usually did–he chuckled under his breath, as he reached up to graze my thigh with his fingertips.

«Maybe you’re right.»

«I usually am - I replied as haughtily as I could, to cover the shiver that his touch had ignited under my skin - Now stop dawdling and take those things off.»

Poe chuckled again, squeezing my thigh for a moment before slowly raising up into a sprawl, more than a sit. There was a lazy grin painted on his face, as he looked at me up and down.

«May I use your ‘fresher first, Ambassador? ‘m afraid I made a mess of myself.»

He was dragging his accent into a proper drawl, probably to annoy me. I scoffed, gesturing slightly in the direction of my bathroom.

«I am not an Ambassador yet, and yes, you can use my refresher.»

Poe bent down to kiss my shoulder, ignoring my less than enthusiastic glower.

«Much obliged» he replied, aiming a delighted grin at me before slipping down the bed. I allowed my gaze to linger on the lean curve of his back as he walked towards the bathroom, taking in the way his muscles shifted under his tanned skin and admiring the shape of his thick thighs. The entire length of his legs was striped with the same long black hairs that covered his arms, but I decided that I didn’t entirely dislike them–they suited him, like the barbarous savage that he was. His slate-grey briefs were hugging his arse obscenely tight, making it look just as round and firm as the rest of him, and I licked my lips as he disappeared behind the door.

I sighed under my breath, as I laid myself down onto the coverlet. Although I had already had two orgasms in the span of barely an hour, I was still unsatisfied, and I was determined to end the night with my needs fulfilled and back in check. I had no intention of allowing my lower instincts to rule my mind ever again, if I could help it, and there was something else flickering just below–a curiosity, small and harmless enough, but armed with tiny yet sharp teeth. A curiosity to know what it felt like to be touched so intimately by another human being, to have my body breached and filled to the brim. A curiosity about the most tactile side of sex, that no description could completely relate. I wanted to know, and in order to know I had to feel. And I intended to feel so deeply that nothing would be hidden from me, and I would know and understand sex the way I knew and understood everything else–be it galactic law or interplanetary politics. I wanted to deconstruct sex until I owned it, and then file it away until it was needed again.

The quiet whooshing of the door caught my attention, and I turned my head in time to take in Poe’s figure, now gloriously naked. He stood still for a moment, studying me as my gaze followed the ridge of his sternum down to his belly, flat and lightly muscled, before dipping lower, where his hipbones framed the soft trail of dark hairs that flared up in an unruly patch over his crotch. His thick cock hung low and mostly flaccid between his thighs, as I finally peered at it in full light. It looked just as dark as the rest of him, with a thick vein stretched across its entire length and delicate foreskin thinning over the glans, pulling back slightly as his cock thickened under my scrutiny.

I forced my gaze away from Poe’s crotch, meeting his eyes. They were so black they glittered slightly in the harsh lights, and were for once difficult to read. The barest hint of a stubble was already growing on his cheeks, hiding some of the bruises.

«You are very handsome» I said, because the silence was becoming unsettling, and because it was true. Poe smiled at that, a smile that was more soft than smug, as he came closer. Without much ceremony, he dropped on the floor the dirty underwear he had been clutching, and climbed onto the bed.

«Was that an actual compliment? - he laughed - The shock could kill me.»

«It is nothing but the truth. You can consider it a compliment, if you like.»

Poe chuckled softly, reaching for my cheek as he laid himself down beside me. His palm felt warm and solid against my skin.

«I’ve taken all my shots» he assured me, turning suddenly serious. «Never forgot one.»

I knew perfectly well what he meant, and I knew he was telling the truth–I doubted he would appreciate the idea of scattering children across the galaxy, and I doubted even more that he would choose abstinence as the solution to that particular problem.

I shrugged slightly, rolling towards him so that we were face to face. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but strangely enough I found his attempt to reassure me me more charming than annoying.

«So have I - I answered, a little peevishly nonetheless - Just because I was not having sex, it did not mean I had not contemplated the possibility of some unplanned affair.»

«Unplanned affair? - Poe chuckled, brushing my lips with his thumb - Is that what I am?»

«Do you know a better description?»

Poe shifted closer, warm breath grazing my skin before his lips pressed against mine. It was a slow, unhurried kiss, and I let my eyes flutter close when he sank his hand into my hair, palm cupping my jaw as his fingers brushed my nape.

«Lots of them - Poe whispered against my mouth - One day I might even share some.»

«I can barely wait» I shot back, almost a chuckle. Poe’s only answer was to slip his tongue between my lips, rolling over me as he licked deeply into my mouth. I hummed into the kiss, letting myself be silenced as I framed his face between my palms and kissed him back.

There was something intoxicating in the touch of naked skin against naked skin, something warm and deep and primeval, like the whisper of fur under the fingers. I could feel the pressure of his body down to my bones, flesh and blood anchoring me down to a present moment as solid as stone, gloriously unlike the uncertainty and the insubstantiality of outer space. His knees and elbows were caging me in, and the proprietary touch of his hands was mapping the perimeter of my skin, defining the edges and boundaries of my body and hemming me in. I grabbed his hair, harder than I meant to, feeling the rich and silky texture of the thick black strands between my fingers, and bared my neck as Poe trailed kisses along my cheeks down to my ear. Poe hissed softly at the pull, interweaving his legs with mine and grinding his thickening cock against the sweet hollow between my thigh and hipbone.

«Will you touch me a little?» he murmured, brushing his nose against my cheek as he kept on the steady thrusting of his hips. His hand had once again found my breast, and was fondling it almost distractedly, thumb rubbing hard into my nipple.

«Yes» I whispered back, keeping my steady grasp over his hair with one hand while reaching lower with the other. Poe tried to help, stopping his steady grinding against my belly and lifting his hips, but he was soon pressing his face against my collarbone with a groan, as I took hold of his cock.

The feeling of hard flesh against my palm brought me back to a dark cave in an uncivilised planet, lost and forsaken, when Poe was the only rope I had left to tether me to everything I had known. I frowned, reflexively tightening my grasp. I didn’t want to remember. And I didn’t want that small, hateful feeling buried deep into my blood, close to longing, as though a part of me was still nursing with something akin to affection those horrible moments in which we had been completely alone, and the galaxy just a glittering expanse in the night sky.

Another groan, low and hoarse, startled me back to the present. Poe’s hips were moving again, meeting my awkward strokes with shallow thrusts. That really wasn’t the best position to deliver a stellar performance, and I wasn’t exactly an expert in the field, but Poe didn’t seem to mind. He was peppering my neck with biting kisses that I could feel down to my spine, breath gushing out in rabid pants and shivering moans.

«Look now who was accusing _me_ of being loud» I couldn’t help pointing out, as Poe’s hips dipped down into a particularly deep thrust. He gasped a breathless laugh against my damp skin, as he traced the shape of my neck with the tip of his nose.

«That wasn’t an accusation - he chuckled, as he nibbled at my earlobe - It was appreciation.»

I hummed, without dignifying that with an answer. I could feel the hard flesh of his cock thickening in my grip, sliding underneath the velvet-smooth foreskin. Sweat was gathering between our entwined bodies, beading between my thighs and against my scalp. I yanked at Poe’s hair, arching against his chest as best as I could with my hand still holding his cock. He was fully erect now, flesh pulsing against my palm as his hips pumped steadily into my fist.

«Is this enough?» I enquired, reaching for his ear and sinking my teeth into whatever flesh I could find in biting distance. Poe groaned again, startlingly loud, as his hips squashed my fist between our bellies.

« _Yes_ » he hissed, lifting his body just enough to rearrange his legs between my thighs. I considered letting go of his cock, but I thought better of it–I kept a steady grip around his flesh as I guided him to my opening, spreading my legs to accommodate his hips. The rim of my entrance was tight, but Poe’s tongue and fingers had loosened it just enough that even if I felt the stretch, it didn’t really hurt me as he pushed in.

Poe let out a loud, deep groan as the head popped inside, something between a garbled speech and a wordless moan. He rubbed his nose along my jaw, keeping the pressure steady as he slid deeper.

His cock was almost halfway in, when the head finally met with some resistance.

«You ok?» Poe panted, breath damp against my cheek. He was so close that his lips grazed my skin as he spoke, not quite kissing me.

«Yes» I murmured back, still reeling from how near he felt, how deep. I was still holding his cock, and I gritted my teeth as I forced it all the way inside. Even my stubborn flesh had to give way to my iron will, and Poe gasped wetly against my mouth as he kissed me sloppily on the lips.

« _Fuck_ » he hissed, voice quivering slightly as I finally let go of him, meeting his instinctive shallow thrusts with my hips. It hurt, some sort of spiking pain that was difficult to pinpoint, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me. «You’re so fucking tight. _Shit_. You sure I ain’t hurting you?»

I tightened my grasp around his hair just enough to drag a groan out of his lips, and palmed his arse with the other hand. I was the one holding him down, this time, caging him between my thighs, and I had no intention of letting him go.

«I will stop you, if I am not enjoying this anymore - I assured him, before sinking my nails into the meat of his arse - Now, _move_.»

«As you wish, Ambassador» he gasped, pulling out slightly and slamming back in. He was struggling to be gentle, I could see that plainly, but I didn’t let him–I gritted my teeth as pain sparked in ribbons somewhere deep into my flesh and I held onto him, meeting his harsh thrusts with my hips. I felt my stubborn flesh give in with something close to reluctance, as each thrust became easier, almost slippery. I wasn’t completely sure, but I guessed that I was bleeding just enough to ease the way. Poe was holding himself up on one elbow, his other hand still curled around my breast.

«You’re so stubborn» he groaned against my neck, hips pistoning into me as I yanked at his hair and scratched the firm meat of his arse. «That’s why I trust you.»

«With what?» I asked, because I didn’t think he meant with his cock. He laughed at that, breathless and wild, each thrust somehow reaching deeper inside of me. It was strange how much I loved that, even though it still hurt–how deep-rooted the pleasure was, even if it wasn’t pleasure at all. I was holding him in a way that was too intimate and all-consuming to be explained. I had captured him just as I would capture a wild beast, and my thighs were the leash that was keeping him tethered to my own very core.

It wasn’t pleasure, but it was stronger, and starker, like riding a hurricane. A brand of control that was absolute, and a taste of power that was intoxicating. As delicious as Coruscanti blush wine, and just as heady.

Poe pressed a sloppy kiss against my mouth, aim off just enough that he barely caught the corner of my lips. His hand finally left my breast, palming my flank in a slow caress, before taking hold of my thigh and hiking it over his hip. His next push plunged much deeper, and Poe groaned breathlessly against my mouth as he grabbed the meat of my arse and almost bent me in two with the strength of his thrusts.

«With us, with this. With the Resistance - he whispered, as though it was a secret - You might still have your misgivings about us, but you gave your word, and I know you won’t betray it.» He lifted his head just enough to aim a grin at me, as his hips drove inside of me. «And you’re way too stubborn and prideful to fail.»

I chuckled, moving my hand from his arse to his thigh, squeezing the flexing muscles as he pulled out and slammed back in. His thrusts were getting faster now, shallow and harsh, like the slapping sound of skin on skin. It sounded deafening in the silence of the room, just as Poe’s breathless moans. I was gasping too, quick and soft and impossible to miss, and I would have felt ashamed of it, if I had still cared.

«Your timing still offers space for improvement - I panted, sinking my nails into the meat of his thigh as Poe’s cock slammed into my loosened opening over and over - but I am not going to criticise your conclusions.»

Poe laughed, and groaned, all at the same time -a strange garbled sound that was a bit of both-, and then rammed into me with a handful of powerful thrusts before stilling with a moan so loud I feared it could be heard from the other side of the compound. His hips kept moving after that, rocking slowly into me for a little while before finally stopping. He was still holding himself up with his elbow firmly planted into the mattress, but he was resting his forehead against my cheek as he panted into my neck. I relaxed under him, unwittingly loosening my grasp over his hair and moving my hand from his thigh to the small of his back. Before I knew it, I was stroking his hair with gentle fingers, while keeping him close to me in what felt almost like an embrace.

Time lapsed forward after that, as our breaths slowed down and the sweat on our skin dried up. Poe slipped his forearm under my back at some point, and held me even closer, as he sank his other hand into my hair and cupped my skull gently into his palm. I didn’t think I had ever been that intimate with someone, or felt that kind of softness. It was something strangely physical, an animal tenderness in handling each other’s bodies that had little to do with affection. It was deeper than feelings, deeper than emotions–more like a strange kind of instinct, rooted inside our blood. _We are entwined so closely that if you hurt, I will hurt too. So, I will be gentle with you._

I kissed Poe’s temple, as his softening cock slipped out. I felt tender and wet and slippery on the inside, and dangerous and powerful on the outside, gently stroking his damp nape with fingers as strong as talons. Poe seemed deliciously vulnerable that way, and even if it wasn’t real, it still sparked a shiver along my spine.

I was starting to think he had fallen asleep against my neck, and about to poke him awake before he crushed me under his weight, when Poe finally stirred. The sweat that was gluing us together fought the pull as Poe gingerly lifted himself up, sticky skins giving way begrudgingly as he put some space between our rapidly cooling bodies. The bacta patch on his arm caught on the one on my shoulder blade as he slipped it out from under my back, while another one was hanging uselessly from his ribs. I pinched the flapping stitch of cloth between my thumb and forefinger and ripped whatever was left of the tape from his bruised skin.

«Ouch» Poe said, too flatly to be a proper protest. He sounded somewhere between tired and mellow, voice low and syrupy and lazy. He peered at me with sleepy eyes, stroking his thumb against my cheek as he examined my face. «You alright?»

I fought the instinct to roll my eyes. He was being chevalier, or what he thought fell under the chevalier demeanour, and I could appreciate the effort. As misguided as it was.

«Yes - I replied, framing his face between my palms and staring at him square in the eyes, to best convene how deadly serious I was - I am perfectly fine. I assure you, Commander–however pleasant your performance was, it was still far from being lethal.»

Poe scoffed at my quip, turning his head in my grasp and nipping at my palm in retaliation.

«That’s what I get for worrying about you» he grumbled. Then his frown deepened, and he was almost pouting as he added: «Wait, _pleasant_? What do you mean, _pleasant_?»

I couldn’t help but giggle at his affronted expression, reaching down to stroke his collarbone. My mindless caress was cut short as my palm caught on the bacta patch still clinging to his shoulder, so I cupped his neck, fingers playing with the soft curls on his nape.

«Apologies, Commander, are you used to better ratings?» I chuckled, rising up in a sitting position as he slipped down the bed with a scoff. «Not entirely disagreeable? Entertaining? Likely to try it out again?»

I had to raise my voice for that last jab, since Poe had disappeared into the bathroom, and now that I heard the water running, I realised that I would have to shout to be heard. I refused to stoop so low, so I decided that I had teased him enough. I shrugged to myself, enjoying the solitude as I took stock of my body. I still felt tender and a little sore between my legs, but the pain was gone, and my muscles and flesh felt strong, well-used.

I took a peek between my legs, finding smudges of blood and semen smeared on the soft skin between my thighs. The pink flowers stitched to the white coverlet were also stained, and I felt a little guilty about it. It was a cheap, ill-made scruffy thing, but so out of place in a military base that it was probably the best they had, and they had given it to me. I resolved to throw it in the sonic cleaner in the morning, and the problem was filed away together with that annoying thread of guilt.

The frown was gone from Poe’s face as he resurfaced from the bathroom, replaced by soft eyes, and an even softer smile. He was still naked, covered in bruises and bacta patches, but he had washed off the blood and some of the sweat from his body. I should have done the same, I thought, but then my eyes caught the small towel that he was holding in his hand.

«Lay down» he ordered, mildly enough, as he climbed back onto the bed.

I thought about resisting, disliking the idea of being handled that way by anyone that wasn’t Hora, but protesting felt silly at this point. I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic as I lay myself down onto the coverlet, but down I went anyway. Poe’s hand was gentle, as he stroked my flank. He pushed my legs apart, and was uncharacteristically delicate as he scrubbed my thighs clean with the damp towel. The cloth was rough, probably old and washed so many times that it felt like sandpaper against my sensitive skin, but it was clean, and I had to admit that I felt much better after Poe’s gentle tending.

«There was some blood - Poe informed me, as he carefully pressed the cloth against my entrance and wiped it clean - but not much. I think you’ll live.»

I scoffed, glancing at the towel. There was some bright red on it, and I turned my face away, as Poe dabbed delicately at my opening. His other hand was busy stroking my belly, and I discovered after a while that the motion was soothing me to sleep. I blinked my eyes open and batted his hands away.

«Enough - I grumbled, forcing myself to get up and off the bed - You may sleep here, if you want. I will be right back.»

Poe was still holding the dirty towel, eyes twinkling as an amused smile spread like wildfire over his expressive face.

«Thank you, Ambassador - he grinned, quirking an eyebrow - You’re really too kind to a lowly pilot such as myself.»

I scoffed again, snatching the towel from his hands and heading towards the bathroom.

«Stop calling me that» I ordered, as the door whooshed close behind my back.

I heard Poe’s laughter from the other side, but I chose to ignore it. I threw the dirty towel into the sonic cleaner instead, and went about my customary ablutions with much less enthusiasm and diligence than usual. I felt too worn-out, and shamefully too relaxed, to give my evening ritual the attention it deserved. I hesitated before washing my face, but then I remembered the sorry state Poe had seen me in before, and suddenly a lack of makeup didn’t seem so crucial anymore.

I couldn’t deny how wonderful it felt, washing the sticky mixture of sweat and makeup off my face. I pondered about a shower, but then I thought better of it. It was already late, and replacing all the bacta patches scattered over my skin would take too long. I was also too tired to tackle such a demanding task, however shameful that admission was, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep the last few days away. I was on a planet, I was safe, and I was pleasantly worn-out. I had every intention of enjoying it.

The lights were already off, when I went back to the room. Eventually, I had settled for a quick rubbing down with a wet towel, fresher than the one I had thrown into the sonic cleaner, but just as coarse. I had avoided the bacta patches and the worst of my bruises, but my skin felt scrubbed raw, tingling and amazingly clean. I felt ready to climb under my blankets and sleep through the following century.

As my eyes got used to the dim lights coming from the refresher, I spotted a thick shadow lying on my bed. I hadn’t really expected Poe to leave, and yet seeing him happily cocooned into my blankets startled me. It felt strangely intimate, in a way that delved deeper and sharper than sex–like claws, cutting harshly into my flesh where Poe’s cock had only rubbed against my skin.

I had been so unsettled by the sight that it took me a moment to realise that Poe was still awake. His black eyes glittered in the half-light, as he looked at me.

«Come to bed» he murmured, voice thick with sleep. He slipped a little further away from the edge, and stretched his banged-up arm across the pillow in what he probably thought was an inviting gesture. His soft curls shone shockingly black against the white backdrop of my pillowcase, and the thickening stubble covering his cheeks seemed just as dark in the shadows.

I hesitated, until I realised how embarrassingly silly of me was to be standing there like a powered-off droid. It was my bed, after all, and Poe was merely a guest. Everything else was just ridiculous nonsense.

I grimaced at how stiffly I moved as I turned off the lights in the refresher and climbed under the covers, but there was nothing to do about it. I settled as comfortably as I could, and wasn’t particularly surprised when Poe scuttled closer, nuzzling sleepily at my shoulder as he enfolded me into a loose embrace.

There was something different in the touch of his flesh, now that all the heath and the tension and the seething power of sex had been drained away. It felt pleasantly warm against my naked body, and smooth, and soft, even where the bacta patches caught and scratched my skin. It reminded me of a rubyhead I had seen years before in a country fair, close to my father’s summer house. I had touched the square head with curious fingers, and the rubyhead had caught my wrist and snuck under my sleeve. Its spires had felt just the same as Poe’s body–dry and firm and warm and powerfully alive.

«I thought you didn’t want me» Poe murmured, completely unfazed by my wriggling as I tried to get comfortable into his arms. I had never had to endure physical contact during my sleep as long as I could remember, and I could already foresee another sleepless night into my future.

«It is not my habit to touch people I do not want» I replied, a little more harshly than I had meant to. I guessed that my clumsy refusal on Rokran was still on his mind, and I felt a little ashamed at how coldly and gracelessly I had dismissed him. «That night, in the cave… - I went on, resigning to the arm that Poe had slipped under my neck, and the hand he had placed over my belly - I couldn’t. The crash, the Order, that girl–It was just… too much.»

Poe hummed under his breath, pressing a handful of soft kisses against my shoulder. His stubble had grown just enough to scratch at my skin, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I would sport some interesting raw patches the day after, if he kept that up, but then again it would be difficult to spot them, amidst the scratches and bruises that my little adventure had carved into my flesh. I could feel the touch of his soft cock against my leg, resting snugly in the crook between thigh and hipbone.

«Thought so - Poe murmured, so close to my skin that I had to focus on his voice to understand the words - Took me a little while, but I got it. That ain’t what I mean.»

I let out a sight that was almost a groan, closing my eyes for a moment. Of course.

«The mess hall.»

«Well, yes» Poe replied, sounding a little put out by whatever he had read into my voice. I rolled onto my side, displacing his hand, but Poe simply moved it to my hips as his dark eyes searched my face into the darkness. The luminescent frames of the light buttons set into the walls had been automatically switched on when Poe turned off the lights, and the greenish glow they casted allowed me to spot the smallest pout onto his lips.

I sighed again, softer this time, and tapped a finger against his lips.

«If I had told you to come to my room right then and there, everyone at your table would have known it in a heartbeat.»

Poe looked truly offended this time, as he shook my finger off his mouth.

«I would’ve never said anything!» he protested, frown deepening on his forehead.

I smirked at him, knowing that he could see the shape of my grin into the shadows, and cupped his stubby cheek into my palm.

«You needn’t have to. Your face cannot lie any better than you do.»

Poe scoffed at that, but he didn’t answer, which I took as a yielding on his part. I slid closer, brushing his lips with mine. He seemed to deflate somewhat at the touch, stroking my flank in a mindless caress as he replied with the lightest of kisses.

«It’s late - I whispered, stroking his cheek - We should try to get some sleep.»

I immediately regretted my action, as Poe drew me back into a tight embrace. I found my nose pressed against his sternum, breasts squashed by his chest.

«Yes» Poe mumbled, tangling our legs together as though his arms hadn’t already ensnared me like a blasted bear trap. He kissed the top of my head, before pressing his scruffy chin against my hair with a content sigh. «Let’s sleep.»

I considered wriggling myself free, but I thought better of it. I doubted I would get much sleep anyway, and if that hardly reasonable physical contact was enough to make Poe happy, there was no point in denying him.

There was something almost fond in that thought, a spark of warmth, and I scoffed at myself as I closed my eyes.

Sentiment. What a silly infection to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! The next part will be pretty brief, more a wrapping up than a proper chapter, but I hope you guys will like it anyway. I will leave my goodbyes to that :)  
> About Poe’s secret mission: I couldn’t really integrate it into the story, since there is no reason why Poe would ever discuss it with Helana, but if anyone was wondering, he’s going to look for Ben Solo. Since I’m using the TFA timeline, Ben disappeared from Luke’s Temple a few months before, and no one has been able to find him ever since. Leia is trying her best to hold herself together and run the Resistance, but she’s desperate. In my personal view, Leia is way too professional to ever use Resistance resources for her own business, but I like to think that she would bend even her personal rules for her son, and her relationship with Poe is close enough that she would ask him for help even if she knows that it’s a personal favour, and it has nothing to do with the interests of the Resistance. Poe, of course, agrees immediately–even if his mission is destined to fail.


End file.
